


Stardust and Sparks

by tomcatgirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Stiles, Courtship, Erica Isaac and Stiles are kind of siblings, F/F, F/M, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Holidays, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Mates, Medieval AU, Slow Build, Sweet Derek Hale, kind of, other relationships background, prince!derek, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomcatgirl/pseuds/tomcatgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, his father, and his cousins Isaac and Erica must flee from their home country, where magic users are being hunted down and murdered by the mad king Gerard and his murderous beasts. They settle in the neighboring country of Beacon, where Stiles struggles to hide his magic while doing what's best for his family.</p><p>And while the Hales seem like a generous and kind royal family, their silence on topics of magic and monsters that howl in the night don't endear them to Stiles. And if his magic ties him more closely to the royal family than he realizes, that's no one's business but his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uprooted

The night was brisk and snow swirled around the small group as they trekked doggedly up the slick, steep shale of the mountain pass. A howl behind them made the Stiles turn. The rest of the group paused to look back at him, but he waved them ahead with a small smile, hood drawn up over his head.

“Go on ahead, I'll catch up,” he promised.

“You'd better, son,” John said, face pale in the white light of the moon. “I can't lose anyone else tonight.”

“I'm going to make sure you don't. Keep going.”

He slid back down the path a ways, eyes and ears trained on the small opening where the beast would have to come through. It was only a few short minutes before a low growl alerted Stiles to the presence of the monster, thick facial skin pulled into a terrifying facsimile of a human face, with large fangs and sharp orange eyes. It roared when it saw him; Stiles roared back and pulled at the magic in his being. He grappled with the beast and it's claws tore into his skin. He reared back and sank one of his hands into its chest up to the wrist. It whined feebly as he searched for its heart, and Stiles grinned as he crushed it in his fingers.

\---

“What happened?” Erica asked as he rejoined them, pulling him into a tight hug. “You smell like blood.”

“I killed it,” he said, a small smirk on his cupid's bow lips. “It won't be following us.”

Isaac wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in the crook of his neck, just breathing for a few moments. Stiles returned the hug, arms tight around his cousin and rubbed his chin gently back and forth over the top of his head.

“We've still got a long way to go before we reach the border,” John said as he clapped a hand to Stiles' shoulder. “We could probably make it by morning and I don't really fancy camping out in the middle of the mountains.”

“I agree. Isaac, you wanna lead? You see best in the dark. I'll take up the rear again,” Stiles said as he shoved his hands deeper into the pocket of his coat. “I'd like to get to Beacon as soon as possible.”

They filed silently through the mountain pass through the night, and when dawn began to glow on the horizon they could see the watchtowers of their neighboring country, blue flags with silver triskelions flapped lazily in the morning breeze. Erica held Stiles' hand and John wrapped a comforting arm around Isaac's shoulders.

“Come on, kids. We're almost there.”

There were already guards at the gate when they approached, dressed in deep blue tunics over chainmail, the crest of Beacon situated in the center of their chests. Erica panted softly as they stopped in front of the gate, and Stiles gripped her hand tighter.

“What business do you have in Beacon?” one of the guards asked.

“We're here to settle,” John said, stepping forward.

“Where are you from?”

“The Hill Country,” he replied. “It is no longer the place for us.”

“We'll have to see your papers,” the second guard said, holding her hand out for them.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out four leather bound sheafs of paper, and handed them to the guard. “That's for the four of us. Alan Deaton said he'd sponsor us.”

“Deaton?” the first guard asked with a frown. “He is taking up a spot in court as the Queen's adviser.”

“Which is why he's giving them his house,” the female guard said as she shuffled through the papers and handed one to her partner. “All the proper seals and everything. Alright, you can go on through. Stay out of trouble, though. The Queen's Guard doesn't put up with much in the Capital.”

“We understand. Thank you,” John said, accepting the papers back from the guard and tucking them into his pocket again.

“One more thing, Master Stilinski,” the guard called. They all turned to look at her. “Those children, are they all yours?”

John's face closed down, eyes hard as he stared down the guard. “They are now. We're the only family we have anymore.”

She nodded and waved them on, and Isaac and Erica tucked themselves against his sides. He laughed softly and wrapped his arms around them. Stiles grinned as he watched them, noted the faint trace of tears on Isaac's cheeks and the brightness of Erica's eyes. He turned to look back at the mountains they had crossed, and scowled. The mad king would pay for what he did to Stiles' family, even if it took the last breath from his body to do it.

\---

The Capital was surprisingly clean and organized, most of the buildings were painted white and decorated with vibrant splashes of color, bright curtains fluttered out of widows, colorful flowers sat in window boxes or sprouted in the earth outside each house. It was a sort of organized chaos, all light and wonderful colors. The four of them were obviously outsiders, dressed in their browns and grays and blacks that suited the dead and dying land of the Hill Country. Many of the citizens of the Capital skirted around them with curious eyes.

The house that they stopped in front of was built of a pale stone, surrounded by a tall stone wall with a heavy metal gate. John pulled the cord next to the gate, and they heard a faint bell ring inside the house. A moment later an enigmatic looking man opened the door and approached them. His bald head caught the light of the afternoon sun, and his wise, dark eyes watched them all carefully.

“John,” Deaton said with a small smile. “So good to see you again.” He opened the gate and ushered them into the courtyard. It was filled with greenery, and they could see that it wrapped around the house, probably to a larger garden in the back.

“What do you grow here?” Stiles asked, eyes wide as he saw many plants with magical properties.

“Anything I like,” Deaton replied with a small smile. “Come. Let me give you a tour of your new home.”

“Where will you be staying?” Erica asked with a small frown.

“I have apartments in the palace. The perks of becoming the Queen's adviser. I will miss my garden, of course, but I trust you will all see to it that it stays in good health.”

“I'll definitely take care of it, sir,” Stiles said, eyes still wandering around the plants.

“Good.” Deaton lead them into the main hall. Two curved wooden staircases met in the middle on the second floor, and a simple red tapestry hung from it, above an arched doorway. There were two doors on either side of the hall. “These doors lead to the parlors, the kitchen, and a storage room.” He led them through the wide arched doorway and they entered a large chamber, richly but simply furnished with a large table, a standing stuffed bear, various cabinets, most of which had been cleaned out, and a series of ornate upholstered chairs. There was a gorgeous rug on the floor, decorated with scenes of animals and color. “This is typically where I had meetings with clients,” Deaton explained. “It can also be cleared out and used to host parties, though it has been a long time since it has seen those festivities.”

“We probably won't hold too many parties,” John said with a laugh. “We're relatively simple people.”

“Yes, well, even so. Come. There is more to see.”

Erica leaned over to Stiles. “That one room was as large as both of our houses combined,” she murmured. “How are we supposed to keep this up?”

“We work,” he replied quietly. “Tomorrow we'll look for jobs.”

“There are six bedrooms on the upper level,” Deaton said. “I have converted one of them into a library, and I have planned on leaving most of my collection here. You are welcome to use it as long as everything stays in decent condition.” A long red carpet ran the length of the hall, the beautiful dark wood beneath it gleamed, and the same wood paneled the bottom half of the walls. The upper portions were painted a deep green and patterned with gold.

“Your house is lovely,” Erica said, hand still entwined with Stiles'.

“It is your house now, Erica,” Deaton said kindly. “I negotiated with the Crown that if I stayed in the palace, half of my home's rent would be paid for by the city for the next half year. Your four are responsible for the other half. I will leave you to settle in, if you need anything else, send a message up to the palace for me.” The man gave a shallow bow and returned down the staircase, and the four of them heard the door close a moment later.

John looked at the three of them. “Well, I guess you'd better choose your bedrooms, hadn't you?”

Stiles took off towards the back of the house while Isaac and Erica moved closest to the staircase. John took the bedroom in the middle of the hall, across from the empty bedroom. The library was on his left and Stiles' room was across the hall from that.

Stiles' room overlooked the back garden, and this one was filled with more than greenery. Flowers of all colors grew in small patches, each of them walled off from the others with dry stone walls. There was a small fountain in the center of the garden, and a flagstone path wound through the mess of plants. A small glass house stood in one corner, and Stiles vowed to himself to poke into the greenhouse the first chance he got.

The wardrobe in his room had a variety of clothes in the bright colors of Beacon. He dropped his own shabby pack onto the floor and began to unpack. His clothes from home were all thick and warm, made from homespun cloth in dark colors. They were all patched and worn from years of use and he folded them gently into the back of the wardrobe before he began to pull out the stored clothes.

They were much softer than he was used to, and cut in a style he was unfamiliar with. The Hill Country was known for wraparound styles and ties and belts. Beacon fashion favored buttons and much more form fitting clothes. They layered their garments, though they were thinner and easier to manage. A door next to the wardrobe caught his eye, and he entered a small stone chamber with a small pump built into the wall. He undressed and drew up water into the provided bucket and scrubbed at the dirt that had built up over the days they had traveled.

A knock at the door made him pause in carefully drying the skin around the wound in his shoulder. He draped a robe around himself to answer the door, and Isaac eased his way through it once it was open.

“How are you keeping up, Isaac?” Stiles asked as he rubbed his towel through his hair.

Isaac settled uneasily on the end of the bed before speaking. “How badly were you hurt, in the mountains?” he asked.

Stiles paused in drying his hair and sighed. “It isn't bad. I'll be fine.”

“That's not the point. You keep getting hurt for us.”

“I'm the one with magic, Isaac. I am the one, out of all of us, who should be getting hurt.”

“No!” Isaac cried softly as he reached up to grab Stiles' arms. “Even if magic is banned, you should not be harmed for it! The hunting of magic users is barbaric.”

“You're right,” Stiles said honestly. “No one should have died because they simply had magic, a natural part of themselves. We shouldn't have been hunted because the King was afraid of our power. You three should not have been hunted because you are related to me.”

“You can't practice while we're here. No one can know about your magic,” Isaac pleaded. “Say you won't practice.”

“I won't promise anything besides keeping a low profile,” Stiles said as he pulled Isaac into a hug. “If magic will keep us safe, I'll do it.”

“But you can't get caught.”

“I'll get us to safety if I do,” he promised. “I got us away from the beasts of the mad king, I got us through the mountains. I’ll keep you safe. All of you.”

“And I believe you, but what if something happens?”

Stiles pulled back and looked Isaac in the eye. “Then we fight. We survive.”

“No more wolf creatures?”

“No more wolf creatures,” Stiles promised. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Alright.”

“We find jobs tomorrow,” he added. “We need to insert ourselves so deeply into this town that they’ll never know we weren’t natives.”

“I can do that,” Isaac said with a smile. “I bet Erica’s wondering where we are.”

“You’re probably right,” Stiles said as he slung an arm around the taller boy’s shoulders. “We’d better make sure she doesn’t worry.”

They found Erica in her own room, scowling at the pile of clothes on the bed. She turned to them with a glare.

“These are all stupid. Buttons are hard. I hate this style,” she griped, hands clenched at her sides.

“Hey,” Stiles said, moving to her side and taking one of her hands in his. “It’s alright. With this garden there’s got to be something I can make to help you feel better. We can modify anything for you if we need to.”

“I hate that my hands don’t work like they’re supposed to,” she muttered. “And that even the simplest things could make me have an attack at any time.”

“You’re strong. I believe in you,” Stiles said.

“Me too,” said Isaac as he came to wrap his arms around his sister. “You can do anything your heart wants.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do,” Isaac said, face pressed into Erica’s hair. “We’ll always be here for you.”

“For each other,” Stiles corrected, arms wrapped around her from the front, leaving her sandwiched between the boys. “We’re family.”

“I love you little shits, but I’ll deny it if anyone asks,” Erica grumbled, but welcomed the embraces with a smile.

\---

“So, what are you three looking for in terms of work?” John asked as they all sat around the large table in the kitchen the next morning. “Any plans yet?”

“I thought we’d just go poking around town,” Erica said, shrugging. “See what there is to do.”

“What about you, Dad? Anything?”

“They’re looking for a constable, I believe,” John replied with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It would be good to get back to the life.”

“That’s great, Dad!” Stiles said, a smile pulling at his lips. “You were so good at that.”

“I know. Now get out there. You’re wasting daylight.”

The three of them stood from the table and shuffled to the sink to drop off their dishes before heading out into the front courtyard. Stiles stopped to prod at a small bush that was turning brown at the tips when Erica grinned, eyes bright in the early morning sun.

“What’s that look for?” Stiles asked, standing straight.

“You should make one of your flower wreaths. You always do so much better when you’re wearing one.”

“That’s magic,” he murmured to her, eyes flicking to the wall that surrounded their new home.

“It’s so small, no one will notice,” she argued. “Pick something, make a wreath, and we’ll get going.”

“Isaac?” Stiles asked, turning to him.

Isaac shrugged bashfully and grinned. “You’re always happier in one.”

“Fine,” Stiles huffed as he made his way to a shrub of poet’s laurel and pulled a small sharp knife from his belt pouch to shave off a few branches, which he masterfully wove into a circlet and presented to Erica.

She smiled and settled it gently on his head, nudging it a few times to make sure it looked perfect and would stay for the rest of the day. Stiles reached up and stroked a few of the leave lovingly and felt a sense of peace settle in him.

“There. See, what did we tell you?” Erica asked, a cheeky grin on her face. “You feel better, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. But we should get going before the market gets too busy.”

“I don’t think market work would suit me,” Erica said with a shrug. “But you’re right. We should go.”

They wandered down the hill towards the sound of the city waking. Other people were also moving in the same direction, some of them merchants with wares, others were families intent on getting the shopping done before the lunch crowd. The three of them stood out slightly, with their strangely layered clothes and messy hair styles. A little girl pointed at Stiles’ flower crown excitedly, and with a whispered charm for health he plucked out a blossom and offered it to her, smiling as she tucked it behind her ear.

The three of them watched her skip away, hand in hand with an older woman, who watched them over her shoulder. The sun was bright on the clean streets of the city and Stiles squinted against it as he scanned the marketplace for somewhere of interest to begin their search.

“I think we should start on the far side and move back up,” he said.

“Alright,” Isaac said with a shrug. “I see horses over there, maybe there’s a stable around.”

Walking quickly, they made their way to where large pens housed a variety of animals, horses and cattle being the most popular. Isaac picked out his favorite horse immediately and began to look it over as Erica and Stiles reclined against one of the wooden fence posts, watching their brother speak to a tall, thin man.

Erica nudged Stiles in the side with her elbow and nodded her head towards another fenced in area, this time where three people in armor stood. They each wore simple silver plate armor with deep blue tunics embroidered with the silver triskelion of the royal family.

The first was an attractive woman with dark hair pulled into a tail at the back of her head. She had a quiver strapped to her hip and was stringing a long bow as she chatted with the second knight, a solidly built man with short dark hair and stubble. He had a sword on his hip and a shield leaned against his shins. The third man was massive, with attentive eyes and a wide stance, he gripped a large hammer in his hands. A few other people in the royal blue gathered around the group, each clutching weapons with bright eyes.

“What’s going on?” Erica asked, lightly touching the arm of a passing woman, whose basket was filled with herbs.

“The knights are recruiting those who wish to train,” the woman said with a quizzical smile. “Have you not seen it before?”

“Been busy,” Erica lied as she brushed a strand of hair back from her face.

“My sister doesn't mean to cause offence,” Stiles said as he plucked another flower from his crown, this time with a wish of peace, and offered it to the woman, who took it with a small laugh. “My name is Stiles, and this is Erica.”

“You must be new in town,” the woman said as she shifted the basket to her other arm to tuck the flower into the end of her braid. “I'm Melissa. I do healing up at the palace.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Stiles said. “What kind of healing do you do?”

“As much as I can,” Melissa said, indicating the basket, which was filled with vials, plants, and linen.

“Do they not supply you at the palace?” Erica asked with a frown. “Surely that's something necessary.”

“I like to support my friends in the city. And if I want something specific I usually get it myself. It's just easier that way.”

Stiles saw Isaac pull away from the horse corral and waved him over. Melissa saw and smiled at the taller boy.

“This is our brother, Isaac,” Stiles said. “Isaac, this is Melissa. She works up at the palace.”

“Nice to meet you,” Isaac said, ducking his head shyly.

“And you as well. I have other errands to run, but it was lovely meeting you three. Perhaps I'll see you around town more often. And thank you for the flower, Stiles. It's beautiful.” Melissa turned and disappeared into the crowded marketplace, basket on her arm, leaving the three teens looking after her.

“Do you think she and dad would get along?” Erica asked.

Stiles grinned, Isaac sighed.

“That's really not important right now. I am.”

“Oh, really, dear brother? What's the big news? You've decided to stop being so serious?”

“No,” Isaac scowled at Erica. “I got a job, tentatively. I need to report to Deucalion's stables at dawn tomorrow. They're going to give me a paid period to see if I can pull my weight.”

“Shouldn't be too hard, you're a twig,” Erica said teasingly, finger sliding between Isaac's ribs and tickling. He jerked away with a grunt and flicked a finger at her nose.

“I don't see you making any progress on the job front,” he said.

“I was just about to head over there,” Erica said, jabbing a thumb behind her to the ring filled with knights and candidates.

Stiles and Isaac slid looks at each other, then back at Erica.

“Erica,” Stiles said softly.

She shook her head angrily. “I haven't had an attack in months. I feel great. I want to do this. I know that I can. If anything comes up, you guys will be right there, right?”

Isaac wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “You know we will.”

“Stiles?”

“Of course. And,” he paused, looking at her. “If you really want to do this, I can try working on a solution that'll help keep everything under control. If you want.”

Erica grinned and threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know it's magic, and you shouldn't be doing it, but I would really appreciate you doing that for me,” she mumbled into his neck.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, patting her on the back. “Go show them what you're made of.”

“Stardust and sparks,” she said before she spun on her heel and strode over to the ring, where the knights were just beginning to sort things into a semblance of order.

“You think she can do it?” Isaac asked.

“I think she's capable, but ultimately her body has the final say. If she doesn't do it this time, she'll do it next time,” Stiles promised.

One of the knights looked up at them, the broad one with stubble, who now had his shield on his arm while the opposite hand rested on the pommel of his sword. Stiles gave him a small smile, then turned his head to watch the larger knight speak to the group of hopefuls.

“I am sir Boyd. Sir Hale, Sir Argent, and I will be assessing your skills to see if you qualify for training in a position with us in the Queen's Guard. Those who fare well will be invited to train at the castle for a period of time, and if you progress you will complete a final task and participate in an initiation rite to join the Queen's Guard.

“It is understood that if you advance, you will not forfeit your position for any reason, barring injury or emergency. You take our test now to join the Queen's Guard and not for glory. Who will be the first to fight?”

“I will,” Erica said immediately.

Stiles and Isaac sighed and looked at one another, then leaned closer to the fence.

“You'll face Sir Hale. What weapon do you choose?” Sir Boyd asked her.

Erica smiled and raised her fists. “I have them right here.”

Sir Boyd raised a single eyebrow but stepped back and nodded his head. Sir Hale raised his shield and came in with a quick thrust of his sword. Erica danced around him. Sir Hale's eyes flickered from her feet, to her hands, and back up to her face twice before she leaned forward. He shoved his shield at her and Erica grabbed the top of it and twisted to the side, forcing him to let go of it unless he wanted his arm broken. She threw it to the side and faced him head on again, a fierce smile on her face.

Sir Hale swung upwards at her, forcing Erica back again. She ducked under his next swing and kicked at his leg, foot connecting with the inside of his knee, forcing it to buckle. He recovered with a wide arc of his sword, which she jumped easily over. He thrust towards her with his full body, as if he still had his shield, and she ducked beneath his arm to grab the strap of his gauntlet and pull his arm up behind him, forcing him to drop his sword and fall to his knees.

The crowd was silent for a beat before Stiles broke it with a whoop as he raised his hands in the air. “That's my sister!” he yelled as everyone watching began to cheer as well.

Erica blushed as she watched Sir Hale stand and wipe the muck from his armor, her feet shuffling in the dirt. He slid his sword back into its scabbard, then retrieved his shield before finally turning to look at her. He glanced to the other two knights, who nodded, then smiled down at Erica, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Stiles heart thudded unevenly in his chest.

Sir Boyd stepped forward to initiate the next fight as Sir Argent pulled Erica aside to speak with her.

“She was incredible,” Isaac said to Stiles as they watched their sister talk animatedly to the female knight. He turned to Stiles. “You didn't magic her, did you?” he asked quietly.

Stiles stared at Isaac, eyes wide before they narrowed in anger, hands clenched around the bar of the fence. “No, Isaac, I didn't. I thought you knew me better than that. Erica could do this for herself, you and I both know that. She doesn't need any help from me.”

“We both need your help all the time,” Isaac responded, head ducked. “I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't, but...” he trailed off and glanced at their sister again. “With everything she's gone through, I thought you might want to guarantee.”

“She would hate me if she knew she won because of something I did. That was all her, and she'll never have that taken away from her by me.”

“She's lucky to have you,” came a voice from in front of them. Sir Boyd stood before them, even larger up close, his broad shoulders towered over Stiles' head. “Obviously Erica is welcome to join us for training. I did want to speak to you about her condition, though.”

Stiles shook his head. “It won't be a problem. How did you even know there was something wrong?” he asked suspiciously.

“I've seen it before,” Sir Boyd answered easily. “Is she being treated?”

“She will be soon,” Isaac broke in, arms crossed. “You shouldn't worry that it'll keep her from doing her job.”

“I didn't mean to imply,” Sir Boyd said simply. “We begin training at the end of the week, should she be well enough to join us.”

“She will be,” Stiles said with conviction.

“Well then. I will see her at week's end.”

Isaac and Stiles watched Sir Boyd head back to Sirs Hale and Argent as Erica approached them, a smile stretched across her face. Stiles picked her gently up off the ground in a tight hug, even though they were the same height.

“I'm so proud of you,” he said, kissing her on the cheek as he set her down.

She laughed, and ruffled his hair softly around the flower crown. “You didn't doubt me for a second.”

“You're right. Isaac on the other hand,” he teased.

“I did no such thing,” Isaac huffed, affronted. He curled an arm around her shoulders and tunneled his hand into her hair. “I believed in you every second.”

“You're both the best,” she grinned, and took one of Stiles' hands in hers. “It's time to find you a job, Stiles, since Isaac and I are just so good at finding them ourselves.”

“Ha ha,” he said, and rolled his eyes, taking one last look at Sir Hale before they headed across the market square again. Sir Hale, who looked directly back at him.


	2. Months 1-6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a job, works his magic, and meets Sir Hale face to face.

“So, you say you have a knack for medicine and the like?” asked the apothecary as he leaned on the worn wooden counter strewn with glass bottles and earthenware jars.

“I do,” said Stiles. “I've worked with plants my whole life.”

“That doesn't mean that you know anything about medicine.”

“Master Geyer, I can assure you that I know the properties of every plant in this shop and how to make a concoction to help whatever it is that could possibly ail you,” he replied, hands flat on the counter top, with dirt under his nails and green stained across the edges of them. “Give me a chance to prove myself. If you don't want me around after a month, I'll work somewhere else.”

“Aren't you new to the city?” Master Geyer asked, raising a brow. “If I let you go who else will hire you?”

“You won't let me go,” Stiles said with a smirk. “And I think you know it.”

Master Geyer rolled his eyes but waved a hand in casual dismissal. “Be here tomorrow morning. And wear something a little less garish, please,” he added as Stiles walked out the door, vibrant orange and blue shirt buttoned up to his neck.

“No promises, Doc!” he called back before the door to the shop shut behind him.

“Sassing your boss already, Stiles?” Erica asked from where she sat perched on a large rock in the shade of the shop. “Don't you think you should be a little nicer until he decides he likes you?”

“He already likes me,” said Stiles with a scowl. “I'm perfectly loveable, thank you very much.”

“Sure,” she said with a grin as she dropped off of the rock and wound her arm through his.

“Thanks for suggesting this place,” Stiles said as he squeezed the hand on his arm. “I probably wouldn't have thought of an apothecary.”

“Where would you have gone instead?” she asked as they wandered through the market.

“Don't know. I heard the butcher is looking for help.”

“Stiles,” Erica said, pulling him to a stop. “You couldn't do that. It would tear you apart.”

“If it kept us fed, I would do anything.”

Erica opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly straightened and tucked her hands behind her back. Stiles looked up and saw Sir Boyd a few steps away.

“At ease, Erica,” he said with a small smile. “I'm off duty at the moment, no need to be formal.”

“Yes, Sir Boyd,” she replied, lips pulling back in a smile of her own.

Sir Boyd looked at Stiles, who waved slightly.

“Would you mind if I took over escorting your sister around the market?” he asked. “Providing, of course, that she wouldn't mind,” he added, turning back to Erica.

Stiles saw her flush and lower her lashes and he grinned. “She really loves those sweet buns that Gabrielle sells,” he said.

Erica muttered something that had Sir Boyd smiling, and he graciously offered her his arm to lead her deeper into the market.

Stiles watched them walk off before he turned to head back home. On his way he saw a young couple whispering in the shadow of an alleyway. The man was dressed in simple clothing and the woman had on a more elaborate dress, with long silk sleeves and two rows of tiny buttons up her back. He pulled two more flowers from his crown and murmured soft spells of confidence and understanding over them before presenting them to the startled pair.

“Who are you?” the girl asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed at him, even as she clutched the flower tighter to her chest.

“No one important,” Stiles replied. “I just like helping.”

“You haven't helped anything,” the boy snapped, flower clutched tightly in his hand. Stiles promptly liberated it and tucked it behind the boy's ear, despite his sputtering.

“Not that you know. Have a good day.”

Stiles continued with his walk, past streets and houses, into the upper district. His house was in the lower part of the upper district, which was really only marked by a waist high dry stone wall that separated the yards and gardens of the upper class from the cozy homes and window boxes of the less well off. The house that he thought he turned left at wasn't where he remembered it being. And the cat that usually sat on the wall at the corner of his street was at a different house in the middle of the street. He turned in a circle and felt all at once lost. Another full circle and he headed off in another direction, drawn to something, like a hook in his heart.

He passed through a large iron gate covered in ivy and walked into a copse of trees. It was shady here, and he stopped to look back at the gate bathed in sunlight before continuing forward. Through the trees he could see a massive tree stump, as wide across as he was tall, and smooth from years of weathering. The air seemed to pulse as he stepped into the clearing where it sat, and Stiles drifted forward to place his hands on the cool wood. It was a strange feeling, a pull and push of his magic, as if it were rearranging itself in his chest.

“What are you?” he asked.

There was no answer except another shift in his magic, and Stiles smiled and plucked the last flower from his crown.

“Well then. Magic it is,” he said, breathing a wisp of his magic into the small white blossom. He laid it on the stump and gently patted the wood, then left the trees. When he stepped back onto the street, he knew exactly where he was, a few streets over from his house. He looked back at where he came from and found the gate shut tightly, a golden lock closed around it. The walk home passed in a fog as he settled into the dirt of the garden behind the house.

The sun had just begun to set when a hand settled on his shoulder. He paused in pulling weeds from one of the flower beds and looked up at his father.

“You've gotten yourself dirty,” John said, gesturing at Stiles' dirt stained shirt and trousers.

“Master Geyer didn't like this anyway,” Stiles replied with a shrug. “Apparently it's loud, or garish, or something.”

“I would be inclined to agree,” John said with a grin. “Come on inside. Isaac made dinner.”

Dinner was a traditional Hill Country dish, a somewhat bland thing consisting of potatoes and leeks baked into a pastry crust. The four of them ate their portions, then prepared the leftovers for a meal for the next day.

After he helped clean up, Stiles returned to the garden. The sun was mostly hidden beneath the horizon, and a chill breeze began to blow through the lanes of the town. He wrapped himself in an old blanket he found tucked away in a chest outside the greenhouse and buried his hands into the dirt under a bearberry shrub. He pulled weeds and pruned the dead leaves from the shrub until it looked nearly perfect, then settled back on his heels to look around the garden. The greenhouse gleamed softly in the moonlight, the colors glass protecting the plants inside. Stiles unfolded himself from the ground and tucked the blanket tighter around himself before he made his way across the garden to the structure. The frame was made of dark wood, with marks carved around the door. The latch was made of the same wood with a second silver lock attached to the frame.

When he touched it, it gave a faint shiver, then turned to let him in. The interior was dark, but each plant was potted specifically and kept out of reach of others. There was a counter along the back wall filled with stacks of paper, jars of fertilizer, and dried cuttings. A pump sprouted from a stone slab in the corner, with a variety of buckets and watering cans stacked next to it. Two oil lamps were mounted on the wall behind the counter, one of which was draped with strings of herbs. He lit them both. Stiles deposited the blanket on the counter and shuffled through a few of the papers. They were records of the growth and lives of the plants, many of which were poisonous or highly magical, some of which had been planted before Stiles was even born. It was also noted with their uses, both magical and practical.

Each plant had been carefully cultivated, and while the information was useful and expertly compiled, Stiles knew that it could be expanded and deepened. He started with the first plant in the pile and took the sheet to it. He let his magic wash over the plant, let it tell him everything it could make out from something it had never come into contact with before. 

The corncockle was new to him, with small pink flowers on a long stalk, it was labeled ‘poisonous’ on the sheet in his hand. His magic noted uses for treatment of parasites and certain  cases of tumors. He continued on, weaving through the rows of the greenhouse until a howl made him pause in his work. It was drawn out and seemed to echo through the greenhouse. A few more howls joined the first and he quickly doused the lights and bolted back into the house, where he stayed awake the rest of the night, whispering protection spells to thoughts of his family.

\---

“Did you hear the howls last night?” asked Isaac at the breakfast table. He pushed his food around his plate and didn’t put any of it in his mouth.

Erica and John nodded, faces grim.

“You kids be careful when you’re out today. I don’t know if Beacon knows anything about the creatures, but keep an ear out for any news.”

“You’ll probably have more luck than us, joining the guard,” Erica said. “You’ll hear everything about any murders or sightings.”

“You make a fair point,” John said as he cut into his eggs. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

“Stiles?” Asked Isaac. “You too?”

The three of them watched as Stiles jerked upright as his eyes jerked open again.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll keep track of everything,” he said, looking back down at his plate.

Erica narrowed her eyes at him.

“Did something happen last night?”

“No,” he rushed to say. “I mean, I was in the greenhouse last night, when the beasts were howling. They sounded close, so I came back inside. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” John asked, eyes soft even as his mouth hardened into a line, lips pressed together. 

“Not much, no,” Stiles muttered. “What’s up with the questions this morning?”

“What’s up is that we’re worried. You’re the only one of us who’s been face to face with these creatures, so it makes sense that they’d have the most impact on you.”

“Erica and Isaac have seen them before,” he replied with a frown.

“We’ve never had them come after us, personally,” Isaac said. “We’ve seen them from a distance, and that was bad enough.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles huffed. “I’ve got to go, Master Geyer insisted that I shouldn’t be late.” He stood from the table and picked up his tattered leather bag from beside the door. “I’ll be back tonight.”

He made his way to the gate, then paused with his hand on the lock. He turned and made his way to a corner of the garden and made himself a crown of eglantine roses before he left for the apothecary shop. There were few people on the road at the early hour, and those that passed him simply nodded or refused to acknowledge him altogether.

Master Geyer met him at the door, holding it open for him as he entered. “You’re here early.”

“You said I should be on time,” Stiles responded with a shrug as he set his bag down on the counter. 

“The shop doesn’t open for another two hours, Stiles.”

“I figured I should get acquainted with your stock,” he said as he smoothed his hands over the counter. “I can’t have anyone coming in and me not know an answer to their questions.”

“I’m sure you won’t learn everything before the shop opens,” Master Geyer said, bemused. “And I wouldn’t expect it of you, anyway.”

“Well, I’ll learn at least half before the shop opens, and the rest of it before it closes,” Stiles said stubbornly. “I’m a quick study.”

“I’m sure you are. There’s the basics up front here, but if there are any special requests, or expensive items, they’re kept in the back. Through here,” he said, pushing back the curtain behind the counter to reveal a large room lined with shelves and cubbies. Along the back wall under a large window was the workspace for creating potions and elixirs.

“This is amazing,” Stiles said as he entered into the room, reading the labels on the shelves and running his hands gently over the instruments on the workbench. “I’ve never used all of this stuff before. It’s always just been me doing stuff by hand.”

“You learned the trade by hand? Without tools?” Master Geyer asked.

“I mean, I’ve got mortars and pestles, and some really nice bowls, and bottles, obviously, but that’s about it. It’s a long process, but it works.”

“Hm. Well, how about a quick lesson?”

During the time before the shop opened Master Geyer taught him the basics of each of the instruments on the table, gave him a brief overview of the common and less common draughts in the shop, and made sure he knew about most of the common ingredients that went into the mixtures.

“I’ll say that you’ve certainly exceeded my expectations,” Master Geyer said dryly as he propped the door open for the day. “And you’ve definitely upgraded your wardrobe since yesterday,” he said, gesturing to Stiles’ simple red tunic with a row of buttons up each side, which clung to his figure.

“Beacon fashion is weird,” Stiles replied as he rolled his sleeves up. “So many buttons, so little time.”

“Most people get ready with plenty of time to spare for the buttons.”

The first customer of the day was a beautiful woman with bright, vicious eyes. Stiles could feel the magic on her. “Where’s Master Geyer?” she asked, scanning Stiles up and down with a sneer. 

“I’m afraid he’s in the back right now, but I can certainly help you,” he replied politely, a smile determinedly stretched across his lips.

“You’re new, you have no idea what I need,” she snapped. “I have very important clients and they need their order perfectly crafted.”

“So give it to me and I’ll get started,” he replied, teeth clenched. “I’ll have you know that I might be new but I do know what I’m doing, which is more than can be said for you.”

“How dare you, you brat,” she snapped as she slammed a sheet of paper onto the counter. “I am Jennifer Blake, and I demand to be treated with respect.”

“Your name means nothing in the presence of plants,” Stiles said as he dragged the paper towards himself. “They are more powerful than you could ever hope to be. And this is all pretty standard stuff,” he added, waving the sheet at her. “I could do most of these in my sleep. Have a seat.”

He ducked through the curtain to the back room and found an amused Master Geyer leaning against the wall. Stiles flushed and moved around him.

“You do know that you’ve made yourself a powerful enemy, don’t you?”

“I don’t know who she is,” Stiles sniffed. “And I don’t really care.”

“She’s the stewardess of the Marquess and Marchioness Ennis and Kali,” Master Geyer said. “They’re one of the most power hungry families in the country. And it seems that you’ve upset their favorite worker.”

“Well, she won’t be upset when I bring her these,” Stiles said as he held up a bundle of jars and pouches. “Everything is perfect and she can’t be mad about it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Master Geyer said as he returned to the worktable. “Give her my apologies, would you?”

“Sure thing.” Stiles reentered the front of the shop and found Jennifer looking curiously at some of the concoctions he’d left on the counter.

“What are these?” she asked. “I haven’t seen them before.”

“New stock,” he answered easily. “A digestion aid, a topical cream for sun rash, and a poultice for bruises,” he said as he pointed to each one. “I’ll throw one in for a half silver as a special buyers reward, if you’d like.”

“I’ll take the one for bruises,” she said, glancing up at him. “And you have everything else I need?”

“It’ll come to seven gold and a half silver,” he said, gently placing the items in the basket she settled on the counter. 

Jennifer dropped eight gold bits in front of him. “Keep the change. We’ll see if you really know what you’re doing. I’ll be back next week.”

“I look forward to it,” Stiles said as he swept the money into the cash box beneath the counter. He plucked a flower from his crown and wished that she would, in fact, have a good day, and presented it to her. “Have a good day.” 

“Eglantine, hm?” she hummed as she left, glancing back at Stiles behind the counter. “You as well.”

The day passed quickly, when there weren’t people in the shop Master Geyer had Stiles fulfilling orders that people had placed with the shop for delivery the next morning.He explained everything he did and why, and answered every question Stiles asked him.

“We deliver twice a week, and sometimes in emergency situations to the palace or the homes of nobility,” Master Geyer explained. “I have the widest array of strange cures and philters, so people come to me for it.”

“But your selection isn’t even that big,” Stiles said, confused. “And where do you get your raw ingredients?”

“My selection is the biggest in town,” Master Geyer replied patiently. “I understand if it doesn’t match up to where you’ve worked before-”

“I haven’t worked in any other shop before. I’ve just collected wild ingredients, and more recently out of my garden. It’s not that I don’t think you’ve got a good thing here, because it’s definitely a great shop, and your ingredients are quality, it’s just that you don’t have a very wide range of alternatives. It’s perfectly alright if that’s where you want to go with it, though.”

“I admire your commitment to digging yourself a deeper hole,” Master Geyer said with an exasperated smile and an eye roll. “In truth, I’ve never thought of alternatives to many of my ingredients, but in time I would be willing to expand my selection of rare and unusual products, as well as common substitutions. In time,” he stressed again as Stiles opened his mouth. “I understand that you’re excited about your first day on the job, but perhaps we could get through a week without changing my business model, hm?”

Stiles grinned and nodded, then turned to help the man who came through the door. Master Geyer watched as the young man expertly talked the man into buying not only what he came in for, but a new skin cream for his wife and and a tea for potency. As much of a handful as he’d be, Master Geyer was delighted to have Stiles in his shop.

\---

Six months into their new lives Erica and Stiles watched Isaac preparing dinner through the partially open kitchen door. He usually flitted easily around the kitchen, familiar with all of the tools and recipes that the whole family had been learning since they moved to the new country. Tonight however, his hands were clumsy, he would blush at random points in the preparation, and he knocked over more than one thing as he tried to prepare the flavorful chicken dish.

“What do you think happened to him today?” Stiles whispered to Erica, who watched her brother with narrowed eyes.

“He looks kind of like you did when you had that crush on Heather when we were kids,” she replied. “Actually, he’s acting exactly like that.”

“You think Isaac’s got a crush on someone? Who?”

“I have no idea, but I think we should find out.”

“I can probably get off of work early tomorrow,” Stiles whispered with a grin.

“I’ll meet you at the stables, mid afternoon,” she replied. They both turned to watch their brother again.

“Speaking of crushes,” Stiles teased, shooting a look at Erica. “How’s Sir Boyd?”

“He’s a fine as ever,” Erica said stiffly as she she pinched him mercilessly under the arm.

Stiles hissed quietly and elbowed her in the ribs. “He’s escorted you around the market three times now, once in full uniform!” he declared softly.

Erica smothered a laugh in her elbow as Isaac knocked an egg to the floor. “So?”

“So, he’s interested in courting you!” Stiles muttered. “You should have caught on to that by now!”

She turned to look at him, pulling her gaze from their struggling brother. “You can’t possibly know that, Stiles.”

“Have you seen the way he looks at you? Like you’re the only thing that matters. And he’s impressed with your progress. You’re doing better than a lot of people.”

“That doesn’t mean he wants to court me. And anyway, he’s a knight, and I’m just a commoner. A foreign commoner, no less.”

“That’s not what he sees in you. He sees who you are, not where you came from. Just think about it,” Stiles said. “I’m gonna go garden for a while.”

He left Erica watching Isaac and thinking about Sir Boyd.

\---

“You work at the apothecary.”

Stiles jumped and spun to face the voice that came from behind him, knocking his crown of plumeria askew. Sir Hale stood behind him in full armor, this time missing the shield. 

“I do. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Sir Hale,” he said, straightening his wreath as he gave a shallow bow. “How goes training?”

“It goes well. 

Erica is a natural,” Sir Hale said, eyes roaming over Stiles, who shifted uncomfortably.

“That’s good to hear. She hasn’t had an problems?”

“Relating to her illness? None that I’ve noticed.”

“That’s good.” They stood in silence for a moment. “Did you need something?”

“No, excuse me,” Sir Hale said as he turned on his heel.

“Wait, Sir Hale!” Stiles called, blushing. “Here,” he said as he plucked a blossom from his crown. Stiles wished confidence and happiness on the flower and presented it to Sir Hale, who looked confused.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Uh, plumeria,” Stiles replied. “You don’t have to take it, it’s just something I do. Something nice for people, you know? It’s fine if you don’t want it, I realize it doesn’t really go with the whole,” he paused to wave a hand at the polished armor and deep blue sash.

“No, I’d be happy to accept it,” Sir Hale said, red tinging his ears. He reached forward with a gauntleted hand and gently plucked the flower from Stiles’ fingers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sir Hale. I look forward to seeing you again.” Stiles stepped around him and quickly made his way towards the stables where Isaac worked, feeling Sir Hale’s eyes on his back until he turned a corner.

He saw Erica in the doorway of a shop within sighting distance of the stables. She grinned and wound her arm through his when he joined her. “I’ve seen him a few times now, but no one has showed up to see him yet.”

“You really think someone will show?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, snorting. “That was definitely Isaac with a crush last night.” She glanced over at him, eyebrows pulled together. “Are you alright? You’re flushed.”

“I’m fine. Thought I was going to be late,” he lied. “How long have you been here?”

“Half a glass, about,” she replied, squinting at their brother. “He’s been busy the last few minutes.”

They watched as Isaac led one of the horses out to a corral and let it off its lead. The horse threw itself into a run as two other men and a woman joined Isaac in the ring. 

“That’s Sir Argent and Master Argent,” Erica said, a frown on her lips. “She isn’t in her armor though.” 

Stiles could see that Sir Argent was dressed in simple leathers over a pale blue tunic, and she had the same bow strung over her shoulder and quiver at her hip that she had at the market months ago. Her hair was piled on top of her head this time and a small circlet on her brow caught the sunlight as she moved. Master Argent, Stiles noticed, was older with a dark beard growing grey over an easy smile. He had a sword on one hip and three slim daggers strapped to the opposite thigh. He remembered from Erica’s stories that Master Argent was the palace's weapon master and resident strategist.

“What do you think they’re doing there?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen the other man around the palace stables, though, so maybe they’re looking at new stock for the palace stables?”

Sir Argent and Master Argent watched Isaac lead the horse through it’s paces while the second man circled the enclosure. When he was done Isaac turned the lead over to Master Argent. The unknown man approached Isaac as he stepped back to let the Argents confer privately. As he approached Stiles and Erica saw Isaac duck his head and shuffle his feet. The other man grinned, a large, open smile as he said something that made Isaac look up in shock. The man clapped Isaac on the shoulder and a blush covered Isaac’s cheeks as he shook his head vehemently. 

Stiles squeezed Erica’s arm and she pushed herself against his side, nearly vibrating with excitement. They watched as the man seemed to tease Isaac, who said something that made the man flush, then laugh uproariously. Sir Argent said something that had Isaac and the man heading towards the horse to speak with Master Argent. A few moments later Master Argent led the horse back into the stables as Isaac ushered the man and Sir Argent into the small shop attached to the stable. Stiles pulled Erica into a hug with the arm that she wasn’t holding and laughed into her hair.

“I’ll never doubt you when it comes to crushes again,” he said. “Isaac definitely has a crush on that guy.”

“Now we’ll just need to get that out of him. I can ask Sir Argent tomorrow during training. I’m sure she’d tell me. She looked like she knew exactly what they were thinking.”

“That they want to escort each other around the market and feed each other sweet rolls by the river?”

“What? Stiles, how did you know about that?” Erica asked, eyes narrowed.

“I just guessed,” he said as he tried to back up, but Erica sank her nails into his forearm. “I may have chaperoned one of your outings and neither of you knew it?”

“I am going to kill you,” she snarled as Stiles twisted away from her and ran, laughing, towards the gated forest with the mysterious tree stump.

“You would never!” he called over his shoulder as he turned a corner. “I love you!”

He ran towards the clearing, now having a firm grasp of where it was in his mind, and slipped through the gate, which always seemed open to him. He moved quietly through the trees and approached the large stump, which was littered with the last flower from each of his crowns since he’d first found the tree. He plucked the last bloom of plumeria from his crown and settled it between a sprig of baby’s breath and a purple violet, instilling a bit of magic in it before he let it go. The now familiar shift in his magic made his chest swell and he took a moment to breathe in the smell of his magical flowers before he left the stump to its own devices and headed home.


	3. Sir Argent is a Saint

Stiles nodded at the guards stationed at the gates of the city. The eastern gates faced a wide prairie that ended in sheer cliffs that dropped into the sea, patches of flowers nestled among the tall grasses. He headed down the worn road towards a bend, where a footpath branched off deeper into the prairie, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head and a large basket under one arm. Once he was far enough from the city that details were unclear, he stepped off the path and knelt down next to a cluster of daisies. He braided the white flowers together with the long grass to create a sturdy, flower studded crown which he placed on his head, then stood and began to look for the plants he needed for the shop.

He spotted a patch of yarrow, the white tops just poking above the grass. From a small leather roll in his basket he pulled a small, sharp knife and gently pruned the tops off of a few of the stalks. A few others he pulled from the dirt, root and all. He lay them in his basket and stood, not bothering to brush the dirt from his knees. As he waded deeper into the grass, it parted for him, then came back together once he passed, as if it had never been disturbed.

With a small push of his magic, Stiles found a colony of dandelions hiding in the grass. He crouched and pulled most of them out entirely, since they would soon spread and repopulate anyway. After he added the dandelions to his basket, he headed farther across the plain towards the cliff that overlooked the sea. As he bent to pluck a bellflower, Stiles felt his magic shift, and he turned.

Sir Hale stood a little way off, dressed in only leather breeches, a brown shirt, and a deep blue vest, held together with tiny silver hooks. He had a pair of leather gloves tucked into his belt and his familiar sword at his hip.

Stiles stammered incoherently under his breath before he bobbed a shallow bow.“Sir Hale,” he said, straightening. “I was unprepared to see you here.”

“I can leave, if you wish to be alone,” Sir Hale hurried to say, taking a step back.

“No! I encourage your company,” Stiles said. “That is, I wouldn't mind if you stayed. I like being around people, and I like you, I mean, as much as I don't really know you, Erica talks about you sometimes, and you sound nice.” Stiles bit his lip and looked past Sir Hale’s shoulder.

A hint of a laugh brought Stiles’ gaze back to the knight. Sir Hale's eyes glinted in the sun as he smiled at Stiles, and his lips pulled away from his teeth, momentarily revealing a set of startlingly white, if slightly larger than normal teeth.

“I'm glad Erica speaks highly of me, even if I do send her into the dirt more often than not.”

“Picking up on her tricks, are you, Sir Hale?” Stiles teased, bending over to collect clover, roots and all. He glanced at Sir Hale over his shoulder.

“Indeed, she caught me by surprise the first few times we trained together, but she continues to use the same tricks and I've learned my way around them.”

“She's been like that since we were kids,” Stiles said, straightening and making his way towards the cliff, Sir Hale following at his elbow. “She'd win some game against me and Isaac, and then we'd figure out how she did it and stop her from winning the same way again. Eventually she got so frustrated that she came up with new ways to get around us, which really only worked a few times before we figured it out again.”

“So I should just continue to beat her when she uses her tricks?”

Stiles nodded. “If you let her do it once more, she'll keep trying. You have to make sure she knows that it's not going to work on you,” he explained.

Sir Hale hummed thoughtfully, but stayed otherwise silent.

“I'm sorry if I’ve overstepped my bounds,” Stiles said after a few minutes of silence. “I know you're in charge, and I apologize if you thought I was telling you how to do your duty.”

Sir Hale shook his head and stopped walking. Stiles paused and turned to look at him.

“I seem to have poor communication skills,” Sir Hale said as he gazed up at the sky. “I took no offense to your words, I welcome them, in fact. Anything that will help me train my knights better is welcome input. I do not mean to make you doubt yourself, and I must apologize.” He looked at Stiles and gave a shallow bow.

“Oh, I mean,” Stiles flushed and looked down at the sprouts of crimson morning glory beginning to unfurl in the morning sun. “Have you ever made a flower crown?” he asked instead.

“No?” Sir Hale replied, confusion on his face.

“I’ll give you an in depth lesson some other time,” Stiles said as he sank to the ground and began carefully picking morning glories with long stems. He also collected a handful of the tall grass surrounding them. “So, you start with one of your flowers, you can make them with as many as you want,” he explained as Sir Hale crouched next to him, eyes intent on Stiles’ fingers. “And you tuck this under like that. Then you take your next flower and slide it in there before you loop it around. Then you can add the grass, for support and durability, and you just keep doing the rotation with it. Flower, loop, grass, loop, flower, flower, and you do that until it’s done. You can sort of braid the ends in when you’re done, or you can tie it off with more grass,” he said. “And then you’ve got yourself a flower crown!”

“What now?” Sir Hale asked, eyeing the crown in Stiles’ hands.

Stiles grinned and shuffled to his knees so they were at the same level. “Now you wear it,” he said, and settled the crown on Sir Hale’s head among the soft waves of dark hair. “What do you think?”

“I feel ridiculous,” Sir Hale said, face stunned as he reached up to touch it. Stiles leaned forward and smacked his arm down.

“You look great no matter what you wear,” Stiles said. “Now leave it alone and help me look for my plants.

“I don’t know anything about plants,” Sir Hale protested.

Stiles grinned. “I know that there’s some lavender over by the forest, and some forget-me-nots by the cliff.”

Sir Hale narrowed his eyes at the young man but headed towards the forest with no other arguments. Stiles went back to hunting down his own plants, adding milk thistles and aster to his basket before he headed towards the forest to check on Sir Hale.

Stiles couldn’t see Sir Hale when he approached, but a pulse of his magic pointed him towards the South, near the cliff. Eventually he saw the knight on the edge of the forest, a handful of lavender in his fist. Stiles grinned to himself and set his basket on the ground, then ran at Sir Hale, feet silent as the grass bent aside for him. At the last second Sir Hale turned, and Stiles collided with him, arms around his waist as he had done a thousand times with Erica and Isaac. They fell to the ground, rolling through the dirt. Stiles ended up on top of Sir Hale, eyes bright with glee. Sir Hale looked up at him, stunned, one hand fisted in the front of Stiles’ shirt and the other wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword.

“What was that?” Sir Hale asked, bewildered.

Stiles frowned and moved to slide off of the knight. “Have you ever just...messed around with people? Played with friends? I mean, I never really had friends besides Erica and Isaac, but still,” Stiles said with a faint, pained grimace. His muscles tensed as he began to stand.

Stiles’ world turned, and suddenly he was on his back in the dirt, with Sir Hale crouched over him. “I only played with my siblings for the longest time,” he admitted. “They’re vicious, though.”

Stiles grinned and grabbed at Sir Hale’s leg, pulling him off balance as he rolled over and scrambled to his feet, then took off towards the cliff, hearing the knight leap to his feet and follow, long legs gaining. Stiles made a sharp turn, then launched himself at Sir Hale again. He caught him in the side, arms tight around Sir Hale’s thighs, tripping him up and sending him face first into the grass.

Sir Hale leaned up on his elbows and spat out a mouthful of grass, his flower crown covering his eyes. Stiles laughed and rolled to his side to adjust it. Sir Hale apparently had the same idea; their hands fumbled into each other, skin against skin and Sir Hale jerked back.

“What?” Stiles asked, frowning as he pulled his hand back.

“Shocked me,” Sir Hale muttered as he shook his hand out.

“Sorry,” Stiles said as he collapsed onto his back, eyes to the sky. A cool breeze blew off the sea and he sighed softly.

He felt Sir Hale shift next to him and a moment later he heard hoofbeats approaching. He rolled to his feet and readjusted his cloak around himself. Sir Boyd, on his massive bay, cantered up to them. He stopped a few feet in front of them.

“Sir Hale,” he said. “You’re needed up at the palace.”

Sir Hale scowled, but brushed himself off and resettled his sword on his hip. “I’ll be up soon.”

“You’re needed immediately,” Sir Boyd warned.

“I’ll be up soon,” Sir Hale repeated, eyes hard on his knight, who bowed his head and turned his horse back towards the city.

“Shouldn’t you go, too?” Stiles asked, looking up at the taller man.

Sir Hale shook his head and smiled. “I’ve got time.” He moved to collect Stiles’ basket and handed it back to the apothecary-in-training. “I’ll walk you back, if you wish.”

“I wish,” Stiles blurted, feeling heat pool in his face. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind. I’d like that.”

“Back to the shop?” Sir Hale asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe breakfast first?”

Sir Hale laughed. “I think I’ve got time for that.”

\--- 

“Have a good morning?”

Stiles paused in tying together stalks of lavender and turned to face Master Geyer, who leaned against the door frame.

“What are you talking about?”

“I hear you had some company on your trip this morning,” Master Geyer said with a smirk.

“Sir Hale just ran into me on his morning walk. We just talked. Who even told you about that anyway?”

“That’s none of your concern. Anyway, we need to replenish our stock of anti-inflammatory salves. That’s your project for the day.”

“Easy enough,” Stiles said, tying off the last bundle of lavender and reaching up to hang them up from a hook in the ceiling.

“And don’t forget that delivery to the Martin Estate.”

“What even is it?” Stiles asked, looking at the basket on the far side of the counter, packed early in the morning by Master Geyer.

“I would suggest that you leave that particular mystery alone,” the apothecary said. “The Martins are an exceptionally private family. For many years I alone have been fulfilling their orders and they trust me. As my assistant, I believe you should begin by introducing yourself. You’ll go by later today and bring the basket. If you make a fool of yourself you can expect to lose face and credibility to the rest of the city, so I suggest you be on your best behavior.”

“I’m always on my best behavior,” Stiles said, affronted. ‘But I promise that I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Also if you have time, could you make a few more bottles of the bath oils? We’re running low.” Master Geyer brushed back through the curtain into the main portion of the shop and left Stiles alone with his herbs.

He turned back to the herbs on the desk and sent a burst of magic into them to weed out bugs, toxins, and other impurities. A number of the plants were weak, their properties unsuitable for use in the concoctions that the shop created. Stiles sorted them out and began arranging them into bundles of like ingredients for drying and storage. Eventually the sun was at the point in the sky when it was acceptable to make deliveries to town, so Stiles gathered up the basket and draped his cloak over his shoulders before heading towards the Martin Estate.

\---

The Martin Estate was farther towards the palace than Stiles had yet been, a large house, walled in by a massive ivy covered wall. Footmen stood at either side of the gate, ready to admit or turn away anyone who came near. One of them stopped him as he approached.

"Who are you, and why have you come?" the footman asked.

"I'm here with a delivery from Master Geyer. I'm his assistant. "

"Master Geyer has always made his deliveries personally," the man said.

Stiles frowned. "Master Geyer entrusted this to me. I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is," said a voice from behind him, "that these guards can’t follow orders."

The guards snapped to attention and took a step back. Stiles turned to see Sir Argent behind him, fully dressed in gleaming armor. She gave a shallow bow to Stiles, who returned it.

"Let the man through. He has the Lady's order," Sir Argent said. "She will be quite unhappy if you delay him further."

The guards scurried to obey. The gate opened and Sir Argent ushered him through, into the lavish courtyard. The grass was evenly cropped, the statues gleamed in the light, and all of the fountains spilled clear water into pristine basins. A maid met them at the door to the main house and bowed them both inside. The inside was just as stunning as the exterior, with gold leaf and expertly painted ceilings, priceless art, and dozens of staff bustling around the house.

"How did you do that?" Stiles asked, readjusting his grip on his basket. "I didn't think they were going to let me in."

"They probably wouldn't have if I hadn't shown up," Sir Argent said, smiling, her deep dimples making her appear like any noblewoman. "They are very protective of Lady Lydia," she explained. "However, we have been friends for many years, so she trusts my judgment. "

"Well, I have to thank you, Sir Argent," he said. "I deeply appreciate your help in this."

"Nonsense. You're here because Lady Lydia wanted you to be," Sir Argent laughed, her face lighting up in mirth as her dark hair bounced around her face with the shaking of her shoulders.

"Wait, if she wanted me here, them why were the guards not going to let me in?" he asked.

Sir Argent smiled. "She likes to make things difficult sometimes. Now come on, we shouldn't keep her waiting too much longer."

“I don’t understand. Are you actually part of the Martin family? Or their guard or something?”

“As part of the Queen’s Guard I am unallowed to solicit my services to a third party,” Sir Argent explained. “However, in the case that a dear friend needs my assistance, I will gladly render it available to her. Now, Lady Lydia is eager to meet you. Keep in mind that she is a tad eccentric, and that you should try not to offend her.”

“I’ll try my best, but no promises. I’ve never dealt with anyone important before.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sir Argent said before she opened a large door, preventing Stiles from asking any more questions. Sir Argent bowed and Stiles followed suit.

“Oh, do rise, will you? I abhor grand gestures in my own home.” The young woman who spoke had red hair bundled expertly on top of her head and was dressed elegantly in a long gown of green silk. She had piercing eyes and full lips, and delicately painted nails. She sat on a dusty pink chaise, a large book propped on her lap. When she closed it as she stood, Stiles saw the title, _A History of the Art: Death and Dying_.

“Did Master Geyer send you with my things?” Lady Lydia asked.

Stiles nodded and offered her the basket. “I even curbed my curiosity and didn’t even peek,” he promised with a grin.

Lady Lydia cocked her head and stared at him for a moment before humming softly and turning to set the basket on a nearby table. “I like you, Stiles. Come, sit,” she said, patting the chaise next to her when she sank gracefully onto the couch.

“Uh, I don’t think that’s really appropriate,” Stiles said.

“Just sit,” Lady Lydia commanded. “What I want, I get, and I want you to be comfortable for this conversation.”

“What conversation is that?” Stiles asked as he sat gingerly on the edge of the couch.

“I’ve heard a lot about you and your skill with plants.  I want you to make my order for next week, just to see how you match up.”

Sir Argent blinked in alarm before covering it with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You shouldn’t have anything to worry about. We’ve all heard about you through the townsfolk.”

“They talk about me?”

“All the time. You’re like a gift from the gods, everyone knows you, or of you, and you’ve only been town what, a little over two years?” Sir Argent asked.

“Coming up on two years next month. And I just really like meeting new people, so it’s not really strange, I don’t think.”

“That’s interesting,” Lady Lydia said, eyes narrowed in his direction. “Because everyone has good things to say about you. I haven’t met anyone who has anything bad to say about you. That’s strange.”

Stiles thought back to the small bursts of magic he attached to each flower he gave out. All of them were well intentioned and usually well received, some eager people even looked forward to when he approached them. No one asked after the flowers, which he appreciated, but they were never turned down. “I think it’s really the flowers,” Stiles replied, gesturing the flowers in his hair. “It’s hard not to like someone who looks as harmless as I do.”

“I don’t think I’d ever use the word harmless to describe you,” Lady Lydia said, rearranging her dress. “A menace perhaps.”

“I thought you said that no one had anything bad to say about me.”

“It’s an endearing quality, I’d assume,” she sniffed. “Clumsy, a little wild, but that’s to be expected from someone who hails from the Hill Country,” she said flippantly. “I don’t suppose you had any sort of governess or tutors as a child, did you?”

Stiles frowned and sank his fingers tightly into the edge of the sofa. “You’re right, I didn’t have any of those things, and I don’t think I’ve needed them.”

“Anyone could stand to have more knowledge,” Lady Lydia argued.

“Technically, no one needs tutors or governesses to learn,” Stiles replied. “Just because I’m not rich, and just because my home country is poorer than yours doesn’t give you any right to to be biased against me.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be on my way.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lady Lydia snapped as he headed for the door. “I only meant that you seem well educated.”

“Above my station, you mean,” Stiles said bitterly, paused in front of the parlor door. “I’ll make your concoctions, Lady Lydia, but I think Master Geyer will continue to deliver them.”

He left the parlor and saw a maid poised for flight a few steps away, her face pinched in fear, as if she expected a rebuke. Stiles ignored her and headed down the stairs, then entered the courtyard at the front of the house. He heard heavy steps approaching on the stone path as he left the estate, and a moment later Sir Argent was at his side, their strides falling into a matching rhythm.

“What do you want, Sir Argent?” Stiles asked.

Sir Argent just smiled gently and continued to walk alongside him, hands clasped behind her back. She walked with him down to the city center and through the market, then down to the docks on the river.

“You know, when most people try to convince me to talk they talk fist,” Stiles said.

Sir Argent grinned. “Ah, but you spoke first, so I suppose I’ve done my job, no?”

Stiles grumbled something under his breath and kicked at a piece of gravel next to his foot. “Yeah, I guess. What are you doing here, though? What does Lady Lydia want?”

“I’m not her courier,” Sir Argent said with distaste. “I came with you for my own reasons.”

“Which are?”

“The fact that I understand what you and your siblings are going through. You feel accepted, but still as if no one really trusts you--or that it wouldn’t matter to anyone if you stayed or left. You’re outsiders and you’ll always be outsiders, right?”

Stiles stayed silent as he crouched on the edge of the dock, watching the river as it twisted away, deeper into the mainland.

“Stiles,” Sir Argent said, a soft sigh breathed through her lips. “It’s not always like this. My father and I are from the Northlands. He brought me with him after my mother died on a hunting trip. For the first few years, my father worked as a laborer, a blacksmith, until he joined the guard. He rose up in the ranks, was awarded a title, and then people started to believe that we were people, real people, and not trouble makers, or refugees,” she explained. “I grew up around the lower levels of the court after my father took his station, and that’s where I met Lady Lydia. We were friends before all else, and it was she who talked her father into sponsoring me as his squire. There were very few women in the guard then, so he was reluctant. But I proved myself and now I am one of the best in the country.”

“You’re a warrior, it’s easy to see the skill and ability you have,” Stiles muttered, pulling a daisy from his crown. He pulled one of the petals off and dropped it into the water, where the current pulled it downstream.

“And you’re an apothecary.”

“Apprentice,” he corrected.

“I know just as well as you that you have more skill in one hand than Master Geyer does in his whole body. He is an excellent apothecary and herbalist, but you outrank him by far. Lady Lydia spoke in earnest when she said that she had heard of your skill, and only good things about you. It’s uncanny, the way you are well liked, and the rest of your family, as well.”

“What do you mean? What have you heard about the rest of my family?” Stiles asked, twisting to look up at the knight.

“Well, I know Erica, and the rest of the guard does as well. She’s highly spoken of, in many circles. Your brother, Isaac, is coming to be known as one of the best horsemen in the city. He perfectly matches riders to horses, always seems to know how to help the beasts, and is the politest being I’ve ever met. Your father is the newest constable. We’ve gone through constables constantly for the past few years, and he’s the only one that I’ve heard people mention that they want him to stick around. He’s fair, he’s just, he’s dedicated to his job.”

Stiles plucked another petal from the daisy and let it drift. “Again, honorable positions. I’m an assistant.”

“But you won’t be for long, will you? Whether you take over from Master Geyer or start your own shop, you won’t be an apprentice forever, just like Erica won’t be a squire forever, and Isaac won’t be selling horses for his boss. He’ll be doing it on his own, or something.”

“I guess,” Stiles replied. “Is it really that easy to tell I’m from the Hill Country?”

Sir Argent looked down at him with a confused frown. “What?”

“Lady Lydia said I was clumsy and wild. A menace,” he grimaced. A moment later a leather gloved hand dropped heavily on his shoulder.

“Stiles, look at me this instant.”

Stiles stubbornly kept his eyes directed at the water as his fingers pulled the last of the petals from the daisy. He was suddenly hauled to his feet by the smaller but exceptionally strong woman. Sir Argent’s brows were drawn together and her lips were pinched tightly together. She blew a breath out her nose.

“You are not a menace. A little wild, yes, but that’s not a bad thing. Clumsy? Lady Lydia is as clumsy as could be when she wakes, my father, when he hasn’t slept, Scott, most of the time. The point is, not everyone is perfectly composed all the time, and you don’t have to be. I like you, and your wildness, Stiles. It’s nice not to have to be a courtier, or a well behaved knight when I’m with you, and it just feels comfortable. Do you understand?”

“Well, I don’t know who Scott is, so I don’t understand that reference, but yeah, otherwise I think so.”

“Scott works in the stables at the palace. His mother is the palace’s main healer,” Sir Argent said with a wave of her hand. “So. do you still think Master Geyer is going to be making the deliveries to the Martin Estate?”

“I could probably be convinced to do it.”

“Wonderful,” Sir Argent said, deep dimples appearing in her cheeks.

“One one condition,” Stiles said, holding a hand up.

Sir Argent narrowed her eyes, but asked, “what is it?”

“I get access to the estate gardens. I could smell plants I don’t have, and more that I’m totally unfamiliar with. I want to study them.”

“I’ll mention it to Lady Lydia,” she said. “I’m sure it shouldn’t be any trouble.”

They began the walk back up towards the market district, and as they reached the crossroad that separated them, Stiles pulled one of the last flowers from his crown. He wished warm emotions and clarity on it, then presented it to Sir Argent.

“Thank you for everything today, Sir Argent,” he said. “I’m sorry I was so pitiful about it all, but I think I’ve got a handle on my pesky emotions. I should be fine for a while.”

“It’s okay to be uncertain, Stiles,” she said. “You’re still trying to get a grasp on your life, you should allow yourself some sympathy.”

“You’re right. Thank you again.”

“Anytime. Perhaps come visit the estate in a few days? I’ll have Lady Lydia send a note when you’re cleared to move about the grounds.”

“That would be fantastic. I’ll be back next week at the latest. You’re a saint, Sir Argent!”

The two went their separate ways, Sir Argent back to the Martin Estate and Stiles to the large tree stump. It hummed with energy as he entered the grove, and the closer he got the calmer he felt. He gently climbed up to its smooth surface and sat in the center, surrounded by the flowers he brought every evening. He reached up and took the last blossom from his crown and cupped it in his hands.

“I want this to be full of remembrance,” he murmured to it. “Today was wonderful, and I imbue you with that feeling, of easiness and joy and,” he paused, blushing, “feelings.” He thought about Sir Hale, and their meeting in the field outside the city. The daisy gave off a faint glow as he finished his spell with a soft caress of magic, and he settled it down among the other blooms. “Gods and goddesses, I gave him one of my flowers,” Stiles groaned as he dropped his head to his hands. “And now I’ve made him a whole crown! You’re lucky you’re a stump and you don’t have to deal with this,” he said as he tapped the wood beneath him.

A distinctly disgruntled feeling in the air around him made Stiles scramble carefully from the stump and crouch in front of it. “I mean, maybe you had to deal with feelings before, I wouldn’t know, and I’m sorry for making assumptions. I promise I’ll bring different flowers tomorrow. Two of them, even.”

The feeling evaporated slowly and Stiles let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding before he left the grove and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words from those who commented, and to everyone who reads my work. I'm sorry about the late update, my dog destroyed my computer with all of my work in it, so I had to re-do it.
> 
> Feel free to contact me, I'm tomcatgirl on tumblr!


	4. Anniversaries

A letter waited for him on the shop’s counter the next morning.

Master Geyer simply raised a brow and disappeared into the back room when Stiles snatched it up and used a fingernail to lift the black wax seal. The heavy parchment was stiff, the even creases of the folds obviously made in one try. His name, _Stiles_ , was written in a loopy, cramped hand on the front.

_Don Stilinski,_

_I was informed by Sir Argent that my words to you yesterday were insensitive and rude, and I should like to apologize. You will, of course, have access to my gardens and, if you wish, my library. In return, I expect you to continue to mix and deliver my order weekly._

_-Lady Martin_

Stiles grinned and carefully refolded the letter, then tucked it into a hidden inner pocket of his tightly fitted vest. His shirt was also tightly fitted, the sleeves cut to mid forearm and buttoned to the elbow while his pants sat high on his hips and fit tightly to his thighs, tapering down with an elegant crease at his ankles.

Master Geyer pushed back through the curtain with a large box in his arms. He set it on the counter, then leaned next to it to stare at his apprentice. “I imagine your visit to the Martin heiress went well if she’s having letters left for you.”

“She’s giving me access to her gardens,” Stiles replied. “I mentioned wanting to yesterday, and she’s allowed it. I was planning to stop by after the shop closes.”

“You’re not trying to court the Lady, are you?” Master Geyer asked, leaning back.

Stiles snorted and tucked his hands behind his head, scratching idly beneath the crown of pink and white Canterbury bells. “I can assure you that I have no romantic intentions towards the Lady. I’m less of a ladies man and more of a man’s man, if you can believe it,” he said with a saucy wink towards his boss, who blinked, unphazed.

“I wouldn’t dare to assume anything about you, Stiles. We’re going to be busy this week, there’s going to be a meteor shower in the next few days, and also a full moon festival.”

“There aren’t usually festivals on full moons, are there? Or have I just missed them for the past two years?” Stiles asked.

“There’s only one now since it’s so close to meteor shower. They’re both considered lucky, so the royal family declared a four day festival on honor of them both.”

“Alright, I get that,” Stiles said, moving closer to the counter. “But what does that have to do with us being busy? Don’t festivals mean that people are out in town?”

“That’s what these are for,” Master Geyer said as he lifted the lid of the wooden box. Inside there were dozens of tiny bottles nestled in hay. “People tend to visit temples and make offerings, as well as personal commitments, confessions, and promises. So we make small bottles of various things,” he paused, “I wouldn’t necessarily call them spells, or magic, but there’s something about them that makes it feel exceptionally special.”

“Is it aromatherapy?” Stiles asked, wary about the mention of magic.

“Of a sort. I’d like you to be in charge of them this year.”

“What? I can’t do that, I don’t know anything about the festival or the traditions or anything!” Stiles protested.

Master Geyer raised a brow and crossed his arms, silk shirt pulled tight across his arms and chest. “I do have eyes as well as ears, Stiles. I know that people say you’re the better apothecary, and I see that you have skills that I myself don’t. I don’t begrudge that of you, but I expect you to work to the best of your ability under my tutelage, is that clear?”

Taken aback, Stiles nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“So you’ll do whatever you wish with the meteor bottles, and we’ll see what happens after the festival.” Master Geyer tugged on the string of his apron, then hung it up next to the doorway to the back room. “I’ll be out for a bit. Do try not to burn down the shop in my absence.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles said, watching him as he left.

He stared at the box on the counter.

\--- 

“You guys gonna let me in this time?” Stiles asked the guards at the gate to the Martin Estate. One of them scowled at him.

“You are only here because the Lady of the House wishes you to be,” the other said snidely.

Stiles grinned. “I’ve got unlimited access to the gardens and the library,” he said gleefully. “So you might be seeing a lot more of me.”

“Gods forbid,” the first one muttered. “Just go.”

They opened the gates for him, and he slipped inside, basket on his arm. Stiles wandered around the far side of the house, following a well worn stone path to the rear of the estate. Statues and busts dotted the path, along with benches and the occasional peacock. Around the back of the house was a paved patio, a large fountain, and a low hedge maze. Beyond that, along the back wall of the estate, there were the telltale signs of a garden. Flowers were relegated to segments of the garden, each carefully cordoned off with short white washed wrought iron fences.

As he moved through the hedge maze to get to the garden, a strange pressure built in his chest. Looking around and seeing none of the staff, he snapped his fingers and summoned a ball of revealing light. At his display of power the feeling faded, but was still present in his awareness. The closer he got the garden, the more eager the feeling seemed to be.

Once he reached the small gate that separated the garden from the rest of the grounds the feeling intensified, then disappeared as he pushed it open. Smells overwhelmed him, and a strange feeling of stickiness settled on his skin. I was similar to the feeling he had when he opened the gate to the tree for the first time, and Stiles spread his magic out through the greenery. There were many common plants, but nestled among them were strange plants that he’d never seen before. His magic gently seemed to let him know that some of them were the last of their kind, and Stiles floundered at the information.

The nearest flower was a few steps away, and smelled strongly of a combination of cocoa and vanilla. It was a strain of cosmos, its petals a deep red brown on long stalks. The patch was relatively large, and Stiles was sure that with his magic he could cultivate it and bring it back from the edge of extinction. He looked around the garden again and realized that just like Deaton’s garden, and the grove that housed the tree stump, the Martin’s garden was spelled to grow just about anything and keep the plants alive.

He collected a handful of the chocolate cosmos, root and all, and quickly imagined the roots staying hydrated while they were out of soil, then spelled them to stay that way. He spread his magic out again, eager to feel the energies of new plants and file away information for later. His magic picked up on someone coming towards the garden, and he turned.

Lady Lydia approached, one handmaiden on each side of her, which she waved away in dismissal as she entered the garden. Stiles straightened, basket askew on his arm.

“Don Stilinski,” she said archly, eyeing him across a row of white hollyhock.

“I don’t know what that means,” he replied lightly.

“Simply an honorific of esteem for a distinguished person,” Lady Lydia said as she gracefully moved around the flowers and linked her arm with his, startling him. “My dearest Sir Argent told me that I was quite rude to you last night. I, of course, don’t agree, though I was blunt. I did not mean offense, and yet, you felt attacked. What kind of courtier am I if I do such thing?” she asked, shooting him a grin.

“One that I should quite like to get to know,” Stiles replied.

“I have no intentions towards you past friendship,” she warned.

“Nothing would please me more than being just friends with you, my Lady,” he said with a laugh. “I’m afraid you couldn’t tempt me in any fashion.”

She pinched him sharply and he laughed again.

“I haven’t yet tried to seduce you, how do you know I couldn’t do it?”

“You have eyes only for another,” Stiles teased. “I don’t believe you would jeopardize that budding relationship.”

“You really are a menace,” she huffed. “Tell me about the plants you’re here for.”

“I mean, I’m not here for anything in particular, I mean, I wasn’t, until I realized that your garden is full of rare plants. I’m hoping to cultivate some of them, and experiment with their usage in the context herbology and medicine. There are some fantastic finds, like this,” he stopped in front of a small shrub filled with beautiful white flowers. He crouched, and tugged her down with him. “This is gibraltar campion. It’s nearly extinct, but you’ve got half a dozen healthy plants here,” he said as he plucked a single flower from the mass.

He wished peace and tidings of love on it, then presented it to Lady Lydia.

“What is this for?” she asked.

“You deserve love,” he said simply, then took her elbow to help her stand. “I give lots of people flowers.”

“So I’ve heard. Everyone also seems to have some sort of revelation, or luck, or newfound confidence after receiving one of your flowers.”

Stiles blushed. “I’m just a good botanist. I’m good at apothecary work.”

“Your flowers seem to last forever,” she prodded.

“Do they? I haven’t noticed,” he said as he bent to harvest more of the campion blossoms.

“You’re really being obtuse, Don Stilinski.”

“Not obtuse, just a menace,” Stiles responded with a wide grin. “Care to join me for the rest of my tour?”

\--- 

“The gossip mills are going crazy,” Erica said as she entered the kitchen, leathers dirty from being knocked in the dirt during training.

“What about?” asked John. He turned a page in the book he was reading and didn’t look up.

“About Stiles and Lady Lydia being secretly engaged.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Isaac asked, fork poised halfway to his mouth.

“There are rumors going around that Stiles is seeing Lady Martin with the intent to marry her,” Erica replied gleefully as she made her way to the cook pot situated by the hearth. “He’s been to the Martin Estate nearly everyday this week, haven’t you, Stiles?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean anything, I’ve been talking to her gardener. There’s some sort of charm letting everything grow together, and I want to figure it out, so I can expand the growing capacity of the garden here. It’s got some of the best soil I’ve come across, so if I could grow all these weird plants together,” he stopped talking when Erica elbowed him in the shoulder as she sat down next to him.

“That’s all fascinating, Plantman, but that isn’t going to deter anyone who thinks you’re getting married.”

“Is it a bad thing if people think they’re engaged?” Isaac asked. “Wouldn’t that just make people more willing to trust us?”

“Maybe, but what if they think he breaks her heart? They’ll hate us forever.”

“Stiles could just tell people who ask that there’s nothing going on,” John said dryly from behind his book. “And from what I understand, Lady Lydia is more likely to break Stiles’ heart than the other way around.”

“You’re so right, Dad,” Stiles said. “She probably wouldn’t even feel bad about stomping on my feelings.”

“Maybe you could introduce me,” Erica said.

“Or you could just ask Sir Argent,” Stiles replied. “They’re best friends.”

“What? I didn’t know that.” Erica frowned.

Stiles grinned and pushed a clear bottle filled with a gold liquid towards her. “Lord Martin sponsored Sir Argent’s training. She was his squire before she became a knight.”

Erica poured the liquid into a deep silver spoon, then stuck it in her mouth and swallowed, lips pulled back in a grimace. “That was as terrible as usual, Stiles. And how did you find that out?”

“Sir Argent told me,” he shrugged. “And it’s medicine. It’s not going to taste good, ever.”

“If you want to make real money, you’ll make it taste good,” she argued.

“If it keeps you alive I don’t care what it tastes like,” Stiles said. “Isaac, you knew about Sir Argent, right?”

Isaac blushed but nodded. “Yeah. I hear a lot about what happens up at the palace.”

Stiles looked up at Isaac, squinting. “From the stable hands?”

“Yeah, they like to stop by. Check out the competition, they say.”

“Is Scott one of them?”

The bright clatter of Isaac’s fork dropping to his plate filled the kitchen and made John look up, eyebrow cocked, and Stiles and Erica grin at each other.

“How do you know his name?”

“I was talking to Sir Argent. She seems to know him pretty well,” Stiles said. “Is he the guy that stopped by with Sir and Master Argent a few weeks ago to look at that black horse?”

Isaac leaned forward, a blush still prominent on his cheeks. “You were watching me! I can’t believe you!”

“Really? You can’t believe that I,” Stiles said, gesturing grandly to himself, “would spy on you to try and figure out why you were acting weird? That’s so strange, that sounds exactly like something I would do. Have done, in fact, to Erica and Sir Boyd. It’s your turn, Isaac, buddy.”

“Well, stop spying on me and Scott,” he huffed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Sure,” Stiles said with a shrug.

“Stiles,” John sighed. “Quit tormenting your siblings.”

“Dad, I’m only doing what older brothers do!”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I think it’s funny,” Erica said.

“That’s because you’re usually helping him!” Isaac replied. “You’re both childish!”

Stiles frowned and carefully set his silverware down on the table. “You think I’m childish?”

Isaac nodded, but looked vaguely nervous.

“You don’t think that me feeling safe for the first time in my life might have something to do with it? That I’ve been able to use magic, even in the smallest amounts, pretty much freely, without consequence, could be a reason for that? That I’m getting to enjoy life, and I happen to pick a little bit on the people I love the most, could be considered childish? I love you, Isaac, I really do, but I don’t appreciate being belittled because you’re embarrassed.”

Stiles stood from the table and waved a hand to banish his dishes to the sink before he strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the library. It was half paneled in dark wood and papered with a pale green print of leaves up to the ceiling. A large desk sat in front of a bay window, and the heavy wooden chair was upholstered with plush green velvet. He turned the chair so it faced the window and curled up in it, knees pulled to his chin as he stared down at his garden.

The sun had partially set before anyone disturbed him.

A knock at the door made him grunt, and he heard the hinges protest quietly as it opened. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, Isaac?”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles sighed and pressed his eyes into his knees. “I know. You didn’t mean it the way I took it.”

“I mean, I kind of did, but I didn’t want you to think that I’m trying to make light of what you’ve had to go through.”

“What we’ve gone through,” Stiles corrected, reaching out to the desk to turn the chair, his knees still tucked up under his chin. “You had your own problems before Dad got you.”

“That’s different,” Isaac said, shifting from foot to foot as he stared down at the carpet.

“Your mom’s husband hit you. Gerard’s men hunted me. There’s not really that much of a difference,” Stiles said. “We’ve both seen more that we deserve.”

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like I don’t like it that you’re having fun.”

“I know. You just didn’t like that I was teasing you about Scott.”

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone. It’s like he’s my best friend,” Isaac said. “But there’s more to it.”

“Are you falling in love with him?”

“I mean, I don’t want to get into bed with him.”

“You don’t have to want to do that to be in love,” Stiles said with a small frown. “From what I’ve seen, he seems to really like you, too, if that helps.”

Isaac looked at Stiles for a long moment. “He tells me about what happens up at the palace a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He sees a lot of stuff.”

“Like what?” Stiles asked, suspicious.

“Like Sir Hale coming in late to a royal summons because he was hanging out with a certain apprentice all morning.”

Stiles sputtered and shook his head. “He did not.”

“He did.”

“Sir Hale did not shirk a royal summons to eat breakfast with me.”

“He did,” Isaac smirked. “Apparently he got clean up duty in the stables for it.”

“No,” Stiles groaned, pressing his face into his knees again. “This is the worst.”

“Why?” Isaac asked, coming over to climb up on top of the desk.

“What if he blames me for that?”

“Have you met Sir Hale? He doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything he doesn’t want to do, which means that if he wanted to spend time with you and suffer the consequences, then he’d do it.”

“I mean, yeah,” Stiles said, looking up at squinting at Isaac as his eyes refocused. “He’s kinda headstrong, from what I’ve seen.”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Maybe.”

“You’ve got so much faith in yourself when it comes to keeping us safe,” Isaac said, brows furrowed, “but none when it comes to anything strictly concerning yourself. Why is that?”

“I wish you weren’t so observant sometimes,” Stiles muttered.

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. I just don’t think I’m anything really special.”

“Shut up,” Isaac said, swinging a half-hearted kick at Stiles. “You are too. We all know it. I’m not going to tell you about everything you’ve done for us, but just, have faith in us that we know what we’re talking about when we say you’re special.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Stiles sighed. “You’ve got a point.”

“I know. Maybe work on that self-doubt thing a little bit.”

“Maybe work on that Scott situation a little bit,” Stiles mocked.

“If you go after me about this I’m going to go after those flower crowns and the flowers that you give to everyone all the time.”

“I’m stretching my magical legs, Isaac. And people love the flowers!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

\--- 

“Happy two year anniversary!” Erica, Stiles, and Isaac yelled, presenting John with a large cake when he came home from work one day.

He stopped in the foyer and draped his cloak over the rack there. “You do realize that we moved in two years ago tomorrow, right?”

The three young adults looked at each other.

Isaac stepped forward. “But this is the anniversary of you adopting us,” he said softly.

John stood frozen for a moment before he reached forward and pulled Isaac into a hug. “You rascals, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m already crying,” Erica said, throwing herself into her brother and father.

Stiles grinned and set the cake down on the nearest flat surface before he joined in on the hug. “See, Dad, now you can’t back out of this. You’ve got three kids for life.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” John said as he pulled back and ruffled Isaac’s hair. “You kids keep me on my toes. Keeps me young,” he said with a laugh. “That and Stiles’ heart medicine. It always tastes like something died in mouth after I take that stuff.”

“Goddess, Dad, between you and Erica you’d think I was trying to kill you instead of keep you healthy.”

“Anything that keeps me healthy shouldn’t taste that terrible.”

“Dad’s got it right,” Erica said with a blinding grin.

“I’m completely healthy,” Isaac boasted, lips pulled into a wide smile. “No gross potions for me.”

“They aren’t potions,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “As I’ve told you a dozen times.”

“Magical drinks are definitely potions.”

“No, they aren’t. Dad, eat the cake before I throw it at Isaac.”

“Don’t you dare, it looks delicious,” John said, picking up the cake from the hand painted decorative side table where Stiles had deposited it.

They sat together in the kitchen, clustered around the cake, eating it straight from the plate, forks clacking against each other as they fought for bites, or scraping across the glass as they dug in a little too hard for another piece.

Eventually John leaned back and settled his hands on his stomach, watching his kids as they fought over the last bit of frosting left on the plate. They argued and brandished forks at each other, smacking each other’s hands away as they made a move towards the last morsels. They were laughing though, and John smiled softly, a little sad, as he imagined sharing the moment with those they had lost.

“Thank you, kids,” he said, interrupting them.

“For what?” asked Stiles.

“Everything.” He stood and collected the plate and forks, then dumped them in the sink. “I’m just happy that you’re all happy.”

“Don’t get all sappy, Dad,” Stiles said. “My shirt’s silk.”

“Which you wouldn’t have had two years ago,” John said. “You three have done so much with your lives.”

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Erica said. “You’ve kept us all together, which was honestly more than we were expecting, with how the raids were going,” she admitted.

“You thought we’d just leave you behind?” John asked.

“We thought at least one of us would die. Mom and Aunt Claudia both had magic, so they would have come for us eventually. And they got all the Harris kids after they found out Adrian had magic,” Isaac said. “I hated the guy, but they killed him in the street and left him there.” He shuddered. “I thought that would happen to us sooner or later.”

“If I could kill Gerard right now,” John muttered to himself. “Anyway. I couldn’t let that happen to you two. It’s worked out well for us, I think.”

“I’m having a pretty good time,” Stiles said, stretching. “Even with all this drama.” He shot a look at Erica and Isaac, who grinned back at him. “I can’t really complain.”

“You’ll be having an even better time, the meteor showers begin tonight, and the full moon festival is starting soon,” John said.

“Is that why you were home late?” Isaac asked.

“Yes. We were setting things up for the festival. There are palace sponsored booths and city run events that needed to be mapped out. There’s also plans to have meteor viewing out in the field to the east. It’s darkest, and there’s enough space for a lot of people.”

“They had better not trample all of my nice plants,” Stiles muttered, pouting.

“Sorry, kiddo, but you might be out of luck there.”

“I’m so excited, there hasn’t been a festival that I’ve been able to attend since we got here,” Erica said. “We don’t have any mandatory training during the run of the festival, so I intend on taking full advantage of that.”

“It’s so strange that most of it’s happening at night, but I guess it makes sense,” Isaac said, “since it’s a festival celebrating the moon and all.”

“Tell your friends about my meteor bottles,” Stiles reminded them. “Master Geyer will be in the shop with his stock of them, and I’ll be out wandering the festival with you guys.”

“Is it sundown yet?” Erica asked, leaning back to look out the small kitchen window. “Close enough. Come on, go get dressed, everyone. We’ve got a public to dazzle.”

“I think I’m going to sit out tonight, but I’ll be out tomorrow,” John promised.

“Come on, Dad,” Stiles begged. “Our first meteor shower!”

“It’ll last for days, Stiles,” John said dryly. “I’ve been up since daybreak, and I’d like a decent night’s sleep.”

“Alright, alright. No more time to argue, let’s go,” Erica said, shepherding Stiles and Isaac out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their rooms. “Look nice, but not like you’re trying too hard. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes.”

She disappeared into her room and Stiles and Isaac looked at each other across the hall.

“I guess we have to change?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “I’ll see you in a few.”

Stiles dressed quickly and carefully applied a touch of makeup to his face, much less than the residents of Beacon usually wore, and headed towards the door. He met his siblings in the hall, Erica in much more revealing clothes that usual, and Isaac in clothes just a touch nicer than normal. They paused in the gardens for Stiles to create a crown from oak leaves and white jonquil blossoms.

He settled the crown on his head and fell into step with his siblings as they headed for the gate. Just before they reached it, a sudden symphony of howls filled the air. Erica reached for a sword that wasn’t at her hip and Isaac tensed to run. Stiles felt heat pool in his hands, the swell of magic under his breastbone surprising but welcome.

A moment later the howling was drowned out by a cacophony of cheers as the first meteor streaked across the sky. Stiles let his magic settle and Erica dropped her fighting stance, but they all remained tense.

“What a lovely start to our first festival,” Isaac snorted.

“I’m sure everything will be fine. We’ll just stick together,” Erica said. “If anything goes wrong, we come back here, wake Dad, and leave.”

Stiles’ thoughts flashed to the bags that he knew they each had packed and stored under their beds. “Unless the beasts come for us, we stay,” he said. “I’m not going to let them drive me out. We’re going to go and enjoy the festival, and goddess curse them if they ruin it for us.”


	5. Festival: Night One

“Apparently dark colors are in,” Isaac muttered as they made their way through the crowds of people dressed in dark hues as opposed to their normally vibrant colors.

“I feel too bright,” Erica grumbled back, plucking at the crimson tunic she had pulled on. She had rolled the sleeves up past her elbows to avoid doing up the buttons at the wrists.

“I’m fine, I think.” Isaac had a brown leather coat and a dark green cravat tied around his neck. He had also catered to Beacon fashion trends with a thin outline of kohl around his eyes.

“Stiles fits right in,” Erica said, gesturing at him. He wore a deep indigo double breasted vest over a black shirt, buttoned respectably all the way down to his wrists, and the crown of oak leaves and jonquil on his head. He had outlined his eyes in silver powder that also dusted the tops of his cheekbones. “Since when do you have any idea what’s fashionable?”

“I just figured I’d try it out,” Stiles replied, gently maneuvering his way through the crowd to the city center. “It’s not something I’d do everyday, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Isaac muttered. “Come on, I want to see what the square is like tonight.”

As they left the grounds of their home, the streets teemed with people, all wearing dark colors and silvery makeup. There were small lanterns evenly spaced along the edges of the roads, but no other lights shone from buildings or houses, allowing the moon and stars to shine brighter in the sky. Many people wore silver jewelry, pins in their lapels, long necklaces, and hair ornaments were most common.

“It all beautiful,” Erica breathed, looking up at the sky. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

The sky was a deep navy, spotted with silver stars and a bright, full moon. There was enough light to see by, and as they made their way deeper into the city, the crowds became thicker and more energetic.

“I’m going to stop by the shop to see how Master Geyer’s doing with the meteor bottles. I’ll meet you back at the square in an hour?”

“Sounds good,” Isaac said, pushing through the crowd towards the stables.

“Bring Scott with you!” Erica called after him.

“Only if you bring Sir Boyd!”

Erica turned to Stiles with a scowl. “I don’t even know if Sir Boyd’s going to be here. We didn’t talk about meeting up.”

“If the royal family called for the festival, I can only assume their guard will be there,” Stiles placated. “I’m sure you’ll see him.”

“That means Sir Hale will be here, right?” Erica asked cheekily.

“Unless he’s still stuck with stable duty,”Stiles said. “I can hope, though. I’ve really got to get to the shop, though, so I’ll meet you later.”

“Yeah, yeah, go do your magic.”

Stiles shot her a warning look over the heads of a group of children that pushed through them, then headed off to Master Geyer’s shop. There were soft silver lights in jars hanging outside the door, and when he looked closer, saw that they were loose clumps of moss.

“I’ve been saving these for a while,” Master Geyer said, emerging from the open doorway.

“What are they?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “But they glow in the dark and seem to only grow here in Beacon.”

“They only grow in Beacon?” Stiles caressed the plants with his magic, and he drew back, puzzled.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just strange. The climate here isn’t too different from the surrounding regions, so I was just wondering about why they wouldn’t grow anywhere else,” he lied. “If we could somehow analyze the dirt or at least see how it differs from other places, and if we kept track of the weather changes it’s possible we might be able to cultivate it.”

“Why don’t we just focus on the festival right now, hm?” Master Geyer asked. “Your meteor bottles have been selling like I’ve never seen. I’ve started limiting how many shoppers can buy.”

“What? There are thousands of them!”

“You’d better take what you want, because the stock is dwindling. Not that I don’t appreciate it, I’m sure that it’ll draw more people to the shop, but you may need to make more for tomorrow night.”

“I can’t do as many,” Stiles said, picking through the boxes of bottles. “Some of them need to steep for days. I can do more of the ones that only need a few hours, though.”

“That would be marvelous. I’ll be sure to give you a bonus for your extra work after the festival is over. I’m also letting our guests know that _you’re_ the one who brewed all of these.”

“Oh, thanks, Master Geyer. That’s awesome!”

“You deserve it with all the customers you’re bringing in. Apparently we’ve already surpassed Master Deaton’s meteor bottles in popularity.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Stiles said, mouth agape. “Also I thought he had a court position now?”

“I am not kidding, Master Stilinski, and he does. He’s the court apothecary.”

“But doesn’t being a part of the court mean you just go stand around and show off your wealth? Eat lavish food and revel in the misfortune of commoners? Display the weak before they’re flogged in front of the assembled body of nobility? Not that I thought that’s what Deaton would do, but you know where I’m coming from, right?”

Master looked at him sharply, lips pulled into a tight frown. “I don’t. Stiles, was that what it was like where you’re from? The Hill Country?”

“You know how my imagination is,” Stiles brushed off as he turned to rummage through one of the boxes of meteor bottles.

“Stiles,” Master Geyer said, voice sharp.

Stiles winced.

“Was that what happened in the Hill Country?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not that bad.”

Master Geyer didn’t reply, and Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see the older man staring out the window, arms crossed, hands clenched tight around the fabric of his sleeves. Stiles gathered a small bag of bottles, each carefully wrapped in lambskin, and slipped out the door before Master Geyer could speak again.

He headed for the town square; the largest crowds were gathered there, clustered around food stalls, street performers, and people staring up at the sky. Stiles passed a three person group of tumblers, a lone flute player on a corner, and a storyteller standing on a box before he found his siblings. Erica stood with Sir Boyd, their shoulders nearly touching in the darkness. Isaac was nearby, craning his neck to look over the crowds, presumably for Scott.

“How’s the night so far, Sir Boyd?” Stiles asked, readjusting the strap of his bag over his chest. “Any troublemakers yet?”

“Just you,” Sir Boyd said dryly, a faint smile on his lips.

“I resent that,” Stiles replied with an exaggerated gasp, throwing a hand to his chest.

“It’s been pretty calm for a fair night,” Sir Boyd relented. “There hasn’t been a night festival in a long time.”

“Why’s that?” Erica asked.

“Timing is never right,” Sir Boyd said with a shrug.

At that moment a young man stumbled through the crowd around them and skidded to a stop in front of the small group. “Sorry I’m late, Isaac, I couldn’t find,” the man’s words died as he looked at the people in front of him. “Oh, I didn’t know your family would be here yet,” he said meekly.

“You must be Scott,” Stiles said, taking pity on him and dragging him into a one armed hug, arm around his neck.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

“If you hurt Isaac I’ll make sure no one knows where you’re buried.” Stiles’ voice was chipper and teasing but his eyes were hard.

Scott shrunk in Stiles’ hold. “I would never hurt Isaac.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Stiles let go of him and Erica flashed a sharp grin at Scott.

“You’re pretty cute,” she purred. Scott looked at Isaac, eyes wide.

“Leave him alone, guys,” Isaac groaned. “Or we’re going to leave.”

“Oh, you’re going to go off alone? Unchaperoned?” Erica teased.

“You and Sir Boyd do it all the time!” Isaac exclaimed.

“Sir Boyd is a gentleman and would never try to take advantage of me,” Erica replied disdainfully.

“I would never try to take advantage of Isaac,” Scott blurted.

Stiles and Erica looked at each other, and then back at Scott. Erica smiled.

“Alright. I suppose that’s good enough for now,” she said. “So, what is there to do during festivals, oh great natives?”

“There’s always stargazing in the field outside the city,” said Scott. “But people don’t usually go until later. Some people stay to watch the sun come up, too.”

“Street performances,” said Sir Boyd. “Food. There’s dancing near the fountain, usually.”

“I want to dance,” Erica said instantly. “Please, Sir Boyd?”

Sir Boyd heaved a sigh, but Stiles could see an indulgent gleam in his eyes. “I suppose I could suffer through a dance or two.”

“Did you want to dance?” Scott asked Isaac earnestly. “My mom taught me when I was younger. I could teach you the steps if you don’t know them.”

“Sure,” Isaac said, taking Scott’s outstretched hand to be pulled after Erica and Sir Boyd towards the fountain. He threw a panicked look over his shoulder at Stiles, who gave him a cheery wave.

“You’re not dancing?”

Stiles turned and grinned up at Sir Hale.

“Not without a partner, I’m not.”

“I’m sure you could find one, if you asked,” Sir Hale replied.

“Well, there’s only one person I’d want to dance with, and he wasn’t here when the music started,” Stiles replied, smile widening. “Besides, I can’t follow steps to save my life. I’d end up taking someone down.” He turned his head away to watch the happy dancers.

“Neither can I,” Sir Hale admitted. “My mother tried to teach my sisters and I, but none of us really caught on. My younger sister is the best, and she’s still not very good. We were shameful to watch at balls in our youth.”

“You’ve been to balls? At the palace?” Stiles asked, pulling his eyes away from the dance and back to Sir Hale. “What are they like? Are they unnecessarily opulent and false cheer?”

“I have been to balls. My family regularly attends court,” Sir Hale said with a secretive smile. “As for what they’re like, boring, mostly. I don’t care for small talk, or dress clothes. My sisters, on the other hand, adore them.”

“But not for the dancing?”

“For the food,” Sir Hale sighed, shaking his head.

Stiles laughed. “They sound lovely. I think I should like to meet them.”

Sir Hale tensed slightly, but eased before Stiles could ask what was wrong. “I am sure you will, eventually.”

“So, what do you usually do during these?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t usually attend,” Sir Hale said, blushing.

“What? Why not?”

“It isn’t as fun going alone,” he finally settled on.

“You never had anyone to go with?”

“I usually spend festival nights in the forest and watch the stars from there.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, and they both watched the dancers form two lines for the next set. “Would you show me where you usually go?”

Sir Hale turned his head to Stiles, a strange look in his eyes. “You want to see where I seclude myself?”

“I want to know everything about you, Sir Hale,” Stiles said honestly.

Sir Hale nodded. “Later. I’ll take you when the moon is higher and it’s easier to see.”

The dancers split into two circles and spun, then formed one large circle, stepping in time to the beat of a large drum. Half of the circle moved inwards to form a smaller one, and they moved in opposing directions for a few bars.

Stiles watched as they moved, seeing Erica and Sir Boyd making eyes at each other every time they passed, and watching as Scott and Isaac stumbled gracelessly through the set, laughing. The full moon lit the space, reflecting gently off of the pale cobblestones of the street to give everything a soft glow. Stiles looked at Sir Hale, who was busy looking off at a series of stalls along one edge of the square.

He was dressed elegantly, a high necked gray shirt under a navy cloak, the hems and neckline of which were embroidered simply with the phases of the moon, repeated over an over again. The cloak was pinned to his shoulders with pressed silver disks in the likeness of the full moon, a chain loosely connecting the two of them. Silver powder dusted his temples and his hair was casually pushed back from his face. His scruff was more pronounced than usual, and Stiles itched to touch it.

Sir Hale turned his head. “The meteor shower should be starting soon,” he said softly.

“I’d better give everyone their meteor bottles,” Stiles replied.

“You made meteor bottles?”

“Master Geyer asked me to make them for him. He wanted me to stretch my wings and prove myself, I think,” Stiles said. “I thought I was doing pretty okay with proving that I’m capable, but maybe he’s got standards that I haven’t lived up to yet. Did you know that mine are outselling Master Deaton’s? I don’t know what his are like so I can’t really compare them, but people like mine better?” Stiles paused to draw breath, but Sir Hale cut him off before he could speak again.

“That is quite an accomplishment. Master Deaton has been making meteor bottles since he was your age. It’s impressive that yours compare to his.”

Stiles blushed. “He’s only got like thirty years on me though, right?”

“Something like that,” Sir Hale replied with a smile. “It looks like the dances are finishing up.”

The four others were approaching, talking amongst themselves before they stopped in front of them. Erica grinned slyly at Stiles, who ducked his head.

“I’ve got meteor bottles for each of you,” Stiles said, sliding his satchel around to his front. “Step right up, everyone.”

He opened his bag to reveal a small wooden box, filled with hay. He pulled out the top layer and exposed three neat rows of carefully sealed bottles. Stiles offered the box to each of them, and he watched as their hands hovered over each of the bottles before they finally chose one. Each of the bottles was sealed with wax, a small seal with his recently acquired apothecary’s sigil, and an inscription for each recipient.

“How did you get all these done in time for the festival?” Isaac asked as he turned the bottle over in his hands. “You had thousands of these.”

“Lady Lydia helped,” Stiles said with a grin. “She has better handwriting than me, anyway.”

“But this is your handwriting,” Erica said with a frown. “How did you know which ones we’d pick?”

“I bet that whole box is filled with his handwriting,” Scott said sagely.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I have more talent than that, Scotty-boy. These were made specially for you, and you alone, it’s not my fault you knew which one to pick.”

“Come on, you’ve got a secret, let’s hear it!” Scott begged.

Stiles stiffened and Sir Hale turned slightly to glare at the stable hand. “Everyone is allowed their secrets.”

“I know,” Scott said, shrinking slightly against Isaac’s side. “Sorry, Stiles.”

“It’s okay. What do you all say to wandering a little before the shower actually starts?”

The group agreed readily and they headed towards the succulent smell of roast chicken at one end of the square. Sir Boyd bought skewers of chicken for everyone, the bites interspersed with chunks of wild onion and sweet apple. They paused in front of a small booth where a dozen kids sat, watching a puppet show on a miniature stage.

“My mom used to put on puppet shows like that over the edge of our bed,” Stiles murmured, leaning closer to Sir Hale.

“Our bed?” Sir Hale questioned softly.

“It was cold, and we didn’t have enough space for another bed, anyway,” Stiles whispered back. The puppets bowed at that point and the small crowd began to clap, prompting the group to move on without a response from Sir Hale, which Stiles was grateful for.

They moved past a strip of games and Sir Hale stopped to play a game, prompting Stiles, Erica, and Scott to insist on playing too. They threw twisted wooden hoops towards milk bottles, attempting to get them around the necks of the bottles. The bottles were set close together, making it harder for the wide hoops to settle down between them.

In the end Sir Hale and Erica were the only victorious ones. The man running the stall handed each of them a blown glass nugget, clear with streaks of blue and silver twisting through it. “Come see my wares when the festival is over,” he said. “Discounts to anyone who wins here.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by,” Sir Hale said with a smile as they left. On the next street over they stopped by a stall selling miniature loaves of bread studded with cranberries and crusted with oats. Stiles bought three, and the woman slathered honey over the tops of them before handing them over. Stiles and Sir Hale picked off of the loaf Stiles had while the other four picked from the other two loaves.

“Goddess, I’m still astonished at how many flavors you use in food,” Isaac said as he brushed crumbs off of his coat.

“What do you mean?” asked Scott.

“Back home it was all bland, mostly just salt, pepper if you could get your hands on it, and whatever you could find in the forests,” he explained.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably and put another piece of bread in his mouth. He was relieved when Isaac and Sir Boyd began discussing flavor combinations, since it halted the previous topic of discussion. A few moments later a shout went up from the other side of the square.

“Meteors!”

Stiles looked up. He saw a single light fly across the sky, and he grabbed Sir Hale’s arm in excitement. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” Sir Hale said softly.

Stiles kept his hand wrapped around Sir Hale’s forearm, squeezing every time he saw another meteor. “How often does this happen? Do you know what’s happening? Is it significant for Earth in some way?”

“Just rocks burning as they enter the atmosphere,” Sir Hale said. “As far as I know, there isn’t really any significance to it, besides spiritually.”

Stiles nodded. He was buzzing in his skin, his magic hummed just below the surface of his skin. “I heard the view is better outside the city?” Stiles asked, head cocked towards Sir Hale, who grinned.

“It is.”

“Then let’s go!” Stiles whooped, grabbing Sir Hale’s hand as he took off across the town square, feet thudding heavily on the cobblestones as he looked up at the sky as often as possible. He laughed as he heard his siblings and the others chase after them.

He looked back at Sir Hale, who kept up easily, hand tightly clasped around Stiles’ fingers. His eyes were bright and his hair bounced into his face every couple of steps. Stiles grinned at him and raced towards the Eastern gates, a small crowd on his tail.

They broke out into the field and headed directly for the cliff. The meteors were falling faster now, and the sky was bright, the light illuminating faces and glinting off of any polished silver. They slowed down, no one behind them now. Stiles was panting, face flushed and euphoric. “This is amazing.”

“You wanted to see where I go during festivals,” Sir Hale blurted.

Stiles squeezed the hand he was still holding. “I do.”

Sir Hale gave him a shy smile before he turned towards the forest and gently tugged Stiles along with.

“Will we be able to see the sky where we’re going?”

“I wouldn’t take you there during a meteor shower if we couldn’t,” Sir Hale scoffed. “Keep walking.”

“Yes, Sir Hale,” Stiles mocked teasingly. “Anything you say, Sir Hale.”

“I hope you know how to climb,” he said a few minutes later.

“Of course I know how to climb. What are we climbing?” Stiles asked.

Sir Hale pointed ahead to a jagged rock formation. “We’re going to the top of that.”

“In my nicest clothes, too,” Stiles snickered. “Alright, lead the way.”

Stiles watched as Sir Hale fit his feet snugly into cracks in the rock and followed, placing his hands and feet where the older man directed. He smirked up at the view in front of him; Sir Hale’s pants really were very flattering. Stiles finally reached the top, miraculously in one piece and his clothes none the worse for wear. He dusted his hands on his pants before he looked up to take in their surroundings.

He let out all of his air as though someone sucked it from his lungs. The rock jutted just above the trees, making it appear as if he were standing in a sea of them. In the distance was the city, lit only by small lights at each of the gates, and the field of stargazers, which were clearly seen by the light of the meteors.

They were so much closer now, brighter, and clearer than Stiles had ever seen them. He angled his body towards Sir Hale, eyes still turned to the sky.

“You come out here to watch the stars?”

“And to get away,” Sir Hale replied.

“It’s amazing.”

They stood in silence for a long time, Sir Hale’s cloak billowing gently in the breeze. It brushed against Stiles’ legs and he shifted, shivering.

“Are you cold?” Sir Hale asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Stiles said.

Sir Hale scowled at him and reached for the clasps of his cloak. “I know you’re lying. Take my cloak.”

“I can’t do that, it’s so nice! And you’ll be cold,” he protested.

“I run hot,” Sir Hale argued. “Take the cloak.”

“No! Watch the stars.”

“I won’t enjoy them if you’re uncomfortable.”

Stiles blushed. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

Sir Hale rolled his eyes skyward and sighed heavily before looking at Stiles again. “Would you please just take it? It would make me feel better.”

Stiles looked up at Sir Hale, eyes gleaming brightly in the starlight. He met Sir Hale’s open and insistent gaze and heaved his own sigh, heart fluttering madly in his chest. “If I take it, you have to take one of these,” he said, plucking one of the jonquil blossoms from his crown. “You shared your stars with me, I’m sharing mine with you.”

Sir Hale inclined his head, swinging the heavy cloak around Stiles’ shoulders as Stiles carefully tucked the flower in between the buttons at Sir Hale’s throat. Sir Hale’s fingers flitted across Stiles’ chest as he fastened the chain to the clasps of the cloak. Stiles let his hands linger on Sir Hale’s collarbone until the knight withdrew slightly. Stiles dropped his hands.

“I know my flowers aren’t as pretty as your stars, but I hope you keep it with you,” Stiles said shyly.

“Your flowers are just as beautiful as my stars,” Sir Hale replied. “I love your flowers.”

“I’ll give you more, then.”

“I would like that.”

They stood watching the stars fall, this time closer, sides nearly pressed together. Stiles could feel the heat of the other man through the cloak. Eventually the horizon began to lighten and tinge with pink. Sir Hale turned to Stiles, eyes glancing from where they climbed the rock back to his face.

“We should probably go before anyone comes looking for us.”

“You’re probably right,” Stiles said, shrugging the cloak tighter around his shoulders. “My dad’s probably worried.”

“Let’s get you home, then,” Sir Hale said with a smile as he started the climb down the rockface.

Stiles watched him from above, the way his hair curled gently over his forehead, the way his shoulders bunched and moved under his shirt, the way his hands clung easily to the rocks. Once at the bottom Sir Hale looked up and gestured for Stiles to come down.

He sat on the edge and eased himself over, brushing the cloak out of the way before he fit his foot into one of grooves in the rock. As he made his way down he thought back to the many times he had lured Gerard’s monsters into the mountains, climbing rocks like this, climbing to escape them, to turn around and kill them. He shuddered and breathed softly in relief when he touched the bottom.

“Are you alright?” Sir Hale asked, reaching out to wrap a hand around Stiles’ elbow and press close to his side.

Stiles wrinkled his nose and looked up at him. “I’m fine. Just a little hungry,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, but he could feel Sir Hale huff next to him and heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “I can tell when you’re lying.”

Stiles grinned and poked Sir Hale in the chest. “Come on, big guy, lead the way.”

“I should just leave you here to starve,” Sir Hale groused, but obligingly began to move towards the city.

“You would never.”

“What makes you so sure?” Sir Hale asked, baring his teeth over his shoulder in a sharp facsimile of a grin.

“You’re a good person,” Stiles said honestly, feeling smugly gratified when Sir Hale stumbled. “And you like me, at least enough to show me your favorite stargazing spot.”

“That’s true,” Sir Hale said.

“So, it just stands to reason that you wouldn’t leave me in the woods to starve. I mean, I wouldn’t, obviously, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“If I wanted to kill you I’d be much more straightforward about it,” Sir Hale said as he picked his way easily through the underbrush.

“Well, that’s comforting, at least,” Stiles said with a laugh. “But at least wait till after the festival, I want to see more stars.”

They picked their way out of the forest and emerged in the field around the city. There were people headed back to the gates, arms full of blankets, and there were people asleep in the grass, splayed together and scattered around the field. Most people looked exhausted, shoulders slumped and eyelids drooping as they shuffled towards home.

“I’m glad we don’t look like that,” Stiles whispered to Sir Hale as he pointed at a group of three as they trudged through the grass, swaying violently as they struggled to keep their eyes open.

“I agree. However, there’s still a long way to your house. You’ve got time to crash.”

“Whoa, are you walking me home?”

“Yes?” Sir Hale replied, confused. “Did you expect me to leave you when we got to the city?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to walk me all the way home. But I’m not going to complain. I’d, uh, really like it, actually.”

They made it through the gates with few problems, and they chatted quietly in the nearly empty streets. The vendors and shopkeepers were putting away their wares, cleaning up outside of their shops, and waving tiredly at passersby. Sir Hale leaned down and spoke softly to Stiles.

“The shops will be closed for the day, since everyone will be asleep; they’ll reopen at sundown.”

Eventually they made it to Stiles’ street, his house sat dark and cold midway down. Sir Hale walked him up to the gate, where they stopped.

“I guess this is good night,” Sir Hale said.

“Good morning,” Stiles whispered. He looked at Sir Hale, his head haloed by the early morning light. “It’s a good morning.”

“Yes, it is.” They stood staring at each other in silence for a long few moments. “Will I see you tonight?”

“Nothing could keep me away,” Stiles said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sir Hale said, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

Stiles returned the smile, then ducked his head and turned to unlock the gate. He turned around a moment later. “Oh, your cloak!” He scrambled for the clasps when two large hands engulfed his own.

“Stiles. Keep it.”

Sir Hale smiled again and left, strolling down the street towards the palace.

Stiles went inside and up to his bedroom, checking in on his siblings as he went. He carefully draped the cloak over the chair next to his bed, then stripped and slid under the covers, staring at the beautiful blue velvet in the light of the morning as his eyes began to slide shut. The only thing in his head was the sound of his name on Sir Hale’s tongue.


	6. Festival: Night Two

Stiles jerked awake, eyes sticky with sleep as he gripped the covers tightly between his fingers. He had been in the middle of a semi common nightmare when something pushed past his wards. It wasn’t malicious, or it wouldn’t have been able to get through, but it also wasn’t supposed to be there. Stiles crept from his bed, tucking his duvet around himself as he went to the window. It was midmorning, and he squinted against the glare of the sun off the window.

Below in the garden and shadow moved slowly from the shade of one tree to another. Stiles looked closer, face nearly pressed against the glass. A large black wolf slunk between the plants, seeming to stop and sniff at them occasionally. It sniffed a patch of stinkweed and began to sneeze, it’s large head whipping up and down with each violent wheeze.

Stiles muffled a laugh in the duvet at his throat and the wolf looked up at the house, ears perked before it sneezed again and trotted out of sight, towards the side of the house. Stiles pulled open his door and went downstairs, cover trailing behind him as he went. He pulled some of his magic to his fingertips, then opened the front door and headed towards the garden. The side of the house was empty, and he couldn’t see the wolf in the rest of the garden.

“I’m not going to hurt you as long as you don’t hurt my plants,” Stiles called out over the greenery. A rustle of leaves next to him made him turn. The wolf was sprawled beneath a bush of strawberries, tongue lagging out of his mouth in a wide smile. He panted, eyes bright, and looked up at Stiles, who froze, magic coiling uncertainly in his core.

The wolf barked and rolled over, trapping some of the vines beneath his body.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Stiles muttered, willing his magic to recede as he crouched slowly in front of the wolf. “You’ll ruin perfectly edible fruit.”

The wolf huffed and rolled over, then looked Stiles in the eye and snatched a ripe strawberry off the vine with his teeth. Stiles gaped.

“Are you seriously eating my strawberries?” he asked. “Because that’s not cool.”

The wolf whined and wiggled out from under the bush. Stiles stayed still as it circled him, cover tucked tightly around him. It sniffed at his exposed hands, snuffled at his hair, and circled around him once more before it butted it’s large head against Stiles’ shoulder, nearly upending him into the dirt.

“Why?” Stiles huffed as he reached out to steady himself. “What are you even doing in town? It’s probably not safe for you, you know.”

The wolf snorted and turned in a tight circle before it headed deeper into the garden. “Where are you going? Don’t think I didn’t see you getting into that stinkweed, wolf.” It made a weird choking noise before it headed towards one of the far corners of the garden. The wolf stopped next to a plant and pointed his nose deliberately at one of the flowers.

Stiles laughed. “That’s mallow,” he said of the small purple striped flowers. “They mean ‘consumed by love’ and they’re edible.”

The wolf barked and pointed at the flower next to it. “That’s hollyhock. I used it in my meteor bottles for ambition, actually.”

The wolf moved to the next one and Stiles crouched down next to the wolf, amber eyes staring into gray green. “Are you here to listen to me talk about plants?” The wolf cocked his head then barked again. “Alright, alright. That’s thistle. A carline thistle, to be specific, since it has the most medicinal properties in the family. It’s used to treat rashes and toothaches. Thistle means nobility.”

Stiles and the wolf carried on in this manner until the sun reached it’s peak and Stiles was yawning into the down of his comforter. The wolf looked at him, then sat at the edge of one of the flower beds.

“What now?”

The wolf barked.

“Well, I don’t know what you want, but I’m tired.” Stiles stood and shook out his makeshift cloak before tucking it around himself again, his loose bed clothes doing nothing to protect him against the still chill air. The wolf stood and circled around his legs before trotting towards the garden gate.

Stiles watched him as he went, calling, “goodbye, I guess.”

The wolf barked before it turned the corner of the house.

“Goddess,” Stiles breathed, shaking his head. “What on earth are you doing to me?”

\---

“Did you leave this morning?” Erica asked over their evening breakfast.

“I was out in the garden for a while,” Stiles said as he worked on peeling an apple in one piece. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“Why were you in the garden?” she questioned.

Stiles looked up at her inquisitively. “I was communing with nature? Why?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there’s something weird about you today.”

“Today?” Isaac snickered from across the table.

“Shut up,” Stiles scowled.

“Be nice, children,” John said from behind his paper. “I won’t have you crabbing at each other at the festival tonight.”

“I would never,” Stiles and Isaac said together as Erica rolled her eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, Dad,” she said with a grin. “We all love each other, we just have weird ways of showing it.”

“Yeah, I know. Sometimes I wonder though.”

Erica stood and brought her dishes to the pump sink in the corner of the kitchen before swinging past the table on her way upstairs. She ruffled Stiles’ and Isaac’s hair before she pressed a kiss to the top of John’s head. “Nothing could tear the four of us apart. You know that.”

John watched her leave the kitchen before he turned to the other two. “She’s sure something. I’m glad she’s happy here. I’m glad that medicine you made is working,” he added.

Stiles nodded. “Her condition is really doing better. I’m still tweaking the medicine, but for the moment it’ll do. She’s stopped shaking so much, and she hasn’t had an episode in weeks.”

“And it’s really helped her be comfortable with the other knights. She doesn’t have to worry about having an attack or anything,” Isaac said. “And she sleeps through the night.”

“And she loves not having people comment on her ‘nerves,’” Stiles said. “She said she feels like a real person, for once.”

“Ah, kid, you’re gonna make me cry,” John said as he got up from the table. “Now, I know you’ll be good, but behave yourselves. I’m a constable. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah, Dad, we’ll be good.” Isaac grinned at Stiles before he pushed back from the table. “I’m going to be good, at least. Stiles has got to be, lest Sir Hale’s gaze be drawn by someone else.”

“Isaac!” Stiles cried, mortified, as John looked at him, eyes bright in amusement.

“Well, kid, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I didn’t pick anyone, Dad, it just sort of happened,” Stiles grumbled as he ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t expect it to last, anyway.”

“Why is that?” John asked, moving to block Stiles’ escape from the kitchen.

“Have you seen Sir Hale? He’s like, the epitome of what the court. He should find some courtesan or other official, not an apprentice apothecary.”

“You still on about that?” John asked as he moved forward to wrap an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “You’re an excellent apothecary. You know what you’re doing and people respect you. People ask after you all the time.”

“What?”

“I’ve had three requests after you in the past month alone,” John said with a laugh.

“What kind of requests?” Stiles asked, eyes narrowed.

“Well, two families were hoping to arrange marriages, and the third wanted to take you into their service exclusively,” he said.

“You mean like a kept man? They want me to live with them and make stuff just for them?” Stiles scoffed. “I would never. That’s a total waste of my skills.”

“That’s what I told them,” his father said. “And I told the other two that you weren’t interested in arranging a marriage, and that I wasn’t going to force you to accept anyone.”

“Dad,” Stiles paused and pressed his head into his dad’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Besides, if it’s true that Sir Hale has his eyes on you I’d never dream of jeopardizing that for either of you.”

Stiles gripped his dad’s arm wrist where it was thrown over his shoulder and squeezed. “I couldn’t ask for a better dad,” he muttered.

“And I couldn’t ask for a better kid,” John said. “Now go get dressed. I’m sure Erica wants to get going as soon as possible.”

“You’re probably right. Thanks, Dad.” Stiles bounded up the stairs and headed towards his bedroom. As he passed Erica’s room, she popped her head out.

“Stiles! I need help.” She disappeared back into her room and he followed. Erica stood in a loose undershirt in the middle of her room, staring at the clothes spread out on her bed.

“You don’t know what to wear?” he asked.

She pointed at a long tunic. “I like this, because it’s purple, and I like the brass buttons, but I don’t know if it’s too much for tonight.” She then pointed at a deep blue vest and a shirt a shade or two lighter. “But I also think that blue fits more into the color scheme, even if there are more buttons.” She then pointed at a set of leathers, soft, well worn, and the color of chocolate. “And these flatter me, all of me,” she said, gesturing from her breasts to her hips. “And I want Sir Boyd to notice me.”

“There is literally no time when Sir Boyd doesn’t notice you,” Stiles said. “No leathers tonight. Purple tonight, black tomorrow,” he said. “That’s what I heard someone else say last night.”

“That it’s purple tonight?”

“No, that the last night of the festival you wear black, and then white the following day. It has to do with coming out of the darkness and embracing the clean start after the meteor showers.”

“Makes sense,” Erica said as she stripped her undershirt off and tugged on a clean, dark gray one. “Button me up?” she asked, voice soft as she shrugged the tunic on.

“Any time,” Stiles replied as he began to do up the tiny buttons in a single row from her throat to just above her navel. “If you wanted a better fit, I could do that,” he murmured. “I know it fits well enough, but I can make it cling,” he said as he moved around to the buttons under her arms.

“What? You can do that?”

“It’s plant fibers,” Stiles said, laughing. “Of course I can take it in.” Once all of the buttons were fastened, he stood back and let the magic pull from his center. He pulled at the material with his magic until it fit Erica like a glove, gently removing the excess fabric for a later use.

“Stiles,” Erica sighed as she ran her hands down her sides. “Thank you,” she said, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Anything for you,” he said seriously, arms locked tightly around her waist.

“Alright, let me go. See if Isaac needs any help.”

“Yes, my lady,” Stiles teased as he left. Isaac’s door was closed, so he knocked gently. It opened a moment later, and Isaac let him in. “How are you doing?”

“I think I was too dressed up last night,” Isaac sighed. “The cravat was a bit much.”

“So wear that blue shirt with the white buttons,” Stiles said. “It’s nice, but it’s not over the top.”

“I can’t button that,” Isaac said.

“Well, I can do them up for you, and Scott undo them,” Stiles teased, throwing Isaac the shirt he had rummaged through Isaac’s wardrobe for.

Isaac sputtered and crossed his arms as Stiles tried to pull his shirt up over his head. “What? That’s not what I want. I like Scott but we just talk talk and wander around town and you know what? It’s none of your business,” he pouted, cheeks flaming red.

Stiles laughed. “I know. But seriously. Wear the damned shirt.” The shirt in question was a deep navy, with a single row of white buttons from the nape of the neck to the hem, and double rows of buttons at the wrists that stretched to mid-forearm. There was embroidery in the same shade of blue across the shoulders, trailing lace like down Isaac’s sides. “You look great,” Stiles said sincerely.

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Isaac said, shifting from foot to foot until Stiles grinned and punched him gently in the arm before leaving.

In his own room, Stiles headed for the chest under the window. There was a vibrant moss green jerkin on top, velvet, and trimmed with gold. Ivy, embroidered with gold thread, trailed from under the high and down each side of the chest. A single vine was stitched down the spine. He popped the buttons, then stripped.

Stiles pulled on a brown shirt and loose brown pants before he tugged the jerkin on over his shoulder. The highest button sat in the hollow of his throat, and the lowest just above his pelvis. The velvet ended mid thigh, tapered to a point. He sat on his bed to pull his boots on, tucking his pants into the well worn leather. He did up the buttons at his wrists before heading into the bathing chamber to study his reflection.

He picked up the tiny pot of gold paint that he’d been experimenting with at the shop and dusted his forehead, right between his eyes, and in a half circle just above his brows. He dampened the brush, then carefully lined his top lids, the gold more concentrated and vibrant, ending in sharp wings with a flick of his wrist.

Erica appeared in his doorway.

“How are you so good at that?” she asked.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m not sure. You want any?”

“Pretty me up, plantman.” She perched on the edge of the counter, and Stiles leaned forward, brush in hand. He gently gilded her eyebrows, leaving them impressive arches of gold, before he moved down to her lips. He dampened the brush again, then dabbed the powder at the center of her lips, leaving the rest a dusky pink.

“You’re always pretty, by the way,” Stiles said as he stepped back. “But makeup never hurt anyone.”

“You gonna make me up, too?” Isaac asked, pushing open the door.

“Only if you want it,” Stiles said, waving the brush at him. “Sit, if you do.”

Isaac hopped up next to Erica, looking only slightly nervous. Stiles swiped gold across the tops of Isaac’s already impressive cheekbones, then over the center of his eyelids. He stepped back and looked at the two siblings.

“You could be children of the sun,” he pronounced. “It’s nearly full dark.”

“We should probably go. Do you think we’ll find the others?” Isaac asked. “We didn’t set up a meeting place last night.”

“We definitely should have done that,” Stiles sighed as he followed Erica out of his room.

On the way out, Stiles paused to weave himself a crown of gold forsythia and fern, which he settled easily on his hair.

“You just look better and better,” Erica grinned as she hook her arms through her brothers’. “We’d better hurry, I’ve got a handsome knight to dance with.”

“Aren’t you glad you made a move on him?” Isaac snickered from one side.

“He put the moves on me,” she sniffed. “However, if he’d waited another week, I would have made my interest known. As it stands now, we’re keeping it between ourselves.”

“And us,” Stiles chimed in.

“You have no room to talk,” Erica huffed.

“What do you mean?”

“What I _mean_ ,” she stressed, “is you haven’t made a move on Sir Hale yet. You just give him flowers.”

“He likes my flowers,” Stiles shot back, indignant.

“I bet he’d like you more if you gave him something other than flowers,” Isaac said. “Like, a kiss.”

“You know I would love to kiss Sir Hale,” Stiles huffed.

“Then do it!”

“I don’t know if he wants me to!”

“Stiles. Sir Hale would not have spent as much time with you as he has unless he likes you,” Erica said. “Trust me, I know. I work with him frequently. He really likes you.”

Stiles didn’t reply as they reached the square, some of the same shopkeepers were out, lining the streets with makeshift stalls or displays. They reached a small group of sword swallowers and stood to watch for a few minutes. When the act was over someone clapped a hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

“Scott!”

Scott pulled Isaac into a tight hug, brown eyes gleaming in the light of the moon. “Hey guys,” he said as he pulled back. “I just saw Sir Boyd and Sir Hale over by the fountain.”

The group turned and headed towards the fountain, dropping small coins into the hats and cups of performers as they went. The crowd opened up near the square, and they could see Sirs Boyd and Hale speaking to two well dressed women. The closer they got, the more recognizable they became.

“Lady Lydia?” Stiles asked. The lady in question turned, her hand still tucked securely around the elbow of the other woman.

“Don Stilinski!” Lady Lydia said, voice warm. “I didn’t expect you to look the part of the wealthy shopkeeper, though I am pleasantly surprised.”

Stiles laughed, having grown used to her backhanded compliments. “Thank you, though I don’t own my own shop yet.”

“Yet, hm? Perhaps I should look into investing,” she said slyly. “You have met Sir Argent, have you not?” she asked, smoothly drawing attention back to the woman on her arm.

Stiles jerked his head to look at the woman again. Indeed, it was Sir Argent, dressed elegantly in a dark brown dress, overlaid with a golden brown surcoat embroidered with arrows and fleur de lis. Her hair was partially pulled back in a series of twists, and small gold pins kept everything in place.

“I have, though I must say, nearly everything suits you, Sir Argent,” Stiles said, cutting a shallow bow towards her.

“I could say the same for you,” Sir Argent said with a smile. “I have not yet seen a flower that does your face injustice.”

“You’re too kind,” he laughed. He glanced over at Sir Hale, who had his eyes trained on directly on Stiles’ face. He flushed.

“You will be joining us for the festivities, I hope,” Lady Lydia said, addressing the group as a whole. “We thought to start with the starlight performance of _Jupiter’s Dance_ near the inn, then stop by the smoker for a light dinner, then perhaps dancing, and ending the night in the field and watching the meteors.”

The rest of the group looked around and shrugged at each other, as they had made no solid plans besides being together. As they moved through town, the group condensed, shifting until each was paired up with their favorite person.

“Did you sleep well?” Stiles blurted, a few minutes after walking next to Sir Hale in silence.

Sir Hale grinned. “I had wondered how long you’d hold out. I slept very well though, thank you.”

“Asshole,” Stiles muttered.

“You like it,” Sir Hale shot back.

“I do. I just didn’t expect it from Sir Hale, knight of Queen’s Guard, and town sweetheart,” Stiles teased. Sir Hale blushed.

“I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“Enough of an asshole for me,” Stiles said with a grin.

They were interrupted when Sir Boyd turned around with a pained expression, Erica tucked against his side. “While I’m sure Sir Hale appreciates the sentiment, I would like not to be subjected to it,” he said.

Stiles laughed and aimed a half hearted kick at the other knight. “Sir Hale deserves every sentiment that falls from my lips, Sir Boyd. Just as my sister deserves yours.”

Sir Boyd ducked his head and Erica laughed, winding her arms through the crease of his elbow. “Stiles, quit teasing Sir Boyd.”

“We’re practically family, Erica! He needs to get used to it!”

“I do realize you aren’t natives, but please don’t act like ingrates,” Lady Lydia called back over her shoulder. They were approaching a large, curtained set up at the edge of the square, the fabric walls rippling in the slight breeze. A young woman stood outside collecting donations, and each of them dropped a coin or two into her pouch as they entered.

The interior of the space was lined with benches facing a large stage at the far end. A small ensemble with instruments sat to one side, and there were performers pacing back and forth behind them. The seats were mostly full, but they managed to find an empty row closer to the front. Sir Hale ushered Stiles in first, then sat at the end of the bench.

“I’ve never been to a show before,” Stiles whispered.

“Never?”

“No, they were only for nobles, and besides, they only performed the bloodiest of plays, from what I heard.”

“Are you not a fan of blood?” Sir Hale asked, head cocked towards Stiles, but eyes on the stage.

“Not when it’s shed for the sole purpose of entertainment,” Stiles answered. At that moment, a woman flipped gracefully across the stage, accompanied by soft trilling from the ensemble.

“Welcome,” she said, voice carrying easily across the crowd, “to the moonlight performance of _Jupiter’s Dance_. Please, feel free to sing along if you know the words. As always, we appreciate the kindness of the audience. If you enjoy the show, we will be taking donations at the door again. Come and see us at the Palace Theatre after the festival. And now, for your viewing pleasure, _Jupiter’s Dance_.”

Another woman walked to the edge of the stage, dressed in a gown with a wide skirt and short cape. She opened her arms and began to sing as the small orchestra played along. Behind her a trio of men dressed in red sprang up from the back of the stage, dancing out the interpretation of the singer’s words. Next, a man appeared, standing on the opposite side of the stage, in a similar costume. Three more dancers, women dressed in blue, appeared. They began to dance together, weaving around the two singers and slowly herding them together.

They began to sing in harmony, hands clasped, before the dancers broke them apart. The singers continued to try and reach each other, but their respective dancers kept coming between them. The orchestra swelled, and the singers rushed for each other as the dancers switched sides. Hands pulled at each of the costumes, quickly stripping them away to leave to two of them dressed in brilliant white, which seemed to banish their dancers off stage.

The music calmed, and they circled each other, still singing, words growing softer as they closed the distance between themselves. When they pressed their foreheads together, the music faded out completely. After a moment they turned towards the audience and bowed, which brought forth a thunderous round of applause and cheering.

“That was amazing,” Stiles said in Sir Hale’s ear, leaning close to be heard over the noise of the crowd.

“It’s one of our most famous shows. I’ve never seen it by moonlight before, though,” Sir Hale replied, lips brushing the shell of Stiles’ ear.

He shivered.

“A first for both of us, I guess,” Stiles murmured as he turned to face the other man, their faces inches apart.

Stiles made an abortive move towards Sir Hale, but was stopped when he was nearly tumbled off the bench by someone behind him, knocking into him as they stood. Sir Hale reached out to steady him.

“Ready for a trip to the smoker?” Isaac asked from beside them. “Sir Boyd was just telling me about these rubs that they use to enhance the flavor, and I really want to get over there.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” Stiles grumbled, flattered when Sir Hale helped him to his feet. They headed back towards the east end of town, where the smoker stood close to the open area where musicians performed for dancers.

“You just want to dance because the show inspired you,” Stiles heard Sir Argent accuse of Lady Lydia, who laughed.

“You’re very observant. I think now would be an excellent time to take a turn about the square, don’t you?” Lady Lydia asked, pulling Sir Argent away in a swirl of skirts.

“They’re so in love,” Sir Hale muttered in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles snickered. “They really are. How long are they going to hide it?”

“As long as necessary,” Sir Hale replied. “Would you like to dance?”

“I don’t know any dances,” Stiles protested weakly. Sir Hale grinned, eyes bright and teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“I’m an excellent partner.” He wound an arm around Stiles’ waist and swept him over to the square, free hands clasped together. Sir Hale lived up to his word, easily maneuvering Stiles around the square, despite his feet’s best attempts to trip them up. They wound easily down a line of dancers, then back up and around to join in one of the circles he had seen last night.

Stiles laughed, admiring the way Sir Hale’s navy blue brocade doublet caught the moonlight, and reflected it gently back to his face. “You’re marvelous,” Stiles said to him during one pass, making his ears flush red.

“As are you,” Sir Hale replied.

“I don’t need your lies,” Stiles chuckled, taking Sir Hale’s forearm as they turned in a tight circle. Sir Hale pursed his lips, but didn’t press the issue.

Eventually the music stopped and Sir Argent and Lady Lydia appeared at their side. “You were truly an impressive couple,” Sir Argent said, shooting a grin at Sir Hale. “You caught on very quickly, Don Stilinksi.”

“Is everybody going to call me that, now?” Stiles asked, groaning.

“If I have anything to say about it, then yes,” Lady Lydia replied.

“Oh, alright,” Stiles sighed. The rest of the group bounded up, Scott pointing excitedly at the sky.

“Meteors!”

They all headed towards the gates, more sedately than the night before, and it took Stiles a long minute to realize that Sir Hale still had his hand on Stiles’ waist. He glanced up at the older man and grinned.


	7. Festival: Night Three

“He said he couldn’t dance!” Stiles blurted, head jerking up from where it dipped towards the table, jostling Erica as she reached for the bowl of fruit.

“Goddess, what?” Erica snapped, cradling the bowl to her chest.

“Sir Hale! He said he couldn’t dance!”

“He sure looked like an expert last night,” Isaac responded.

“Exactly! So why would he say he couldn’t?” Stiles asked.

“Maybe he was trying to make you feel better about your two left feet?” Erica suggested with a snicker.

“Or maybe he was hoping he’d get away without dancing,” Isaac said.

“Don’t be mean to your brother,” John said as he entered the kitchen. “I’ve got to head into town early, so make sure you’re all there at full dark.”

“Sure, Dad. And you look nice,” Erica said. “Dressing up for someone?”

“If I were, I wouldn’t tell you,” John said, tucking his baton into his belt. “It’s new. Don’t poke at it.”

“Right.”

The three of them made their way upstairs, heads together as they walked. “Do you think dad’s met someone?”

“He never dresses up, so I think yes,” Erica whispered.

“And he’s been coming home on time, which is weird,” Isaac added. “It’s almost like someone is making him leave.”

“Good point,” Stiles responded. “We’ll have to keep watch until we figure out who we have to question.”

With a last reminder that tonight’s color was black, they separated and headed towards their own rooms. Stiles pulled his shirt off over his head, his nose getting caught at the neck before he threw it to the floor and made his way over to his window and stared out at the greenhouse. A movement outside had him squinting to make out the shape moving in the relative darkness.

Stiles laughed when he saw the wolf, sniffing at one of the flowers outside the greenhouse door. Satisfied, he moved to the bathing chamber to freshen up for the evening. Once clean, he buttoned a tight black shirt up to his neck, the sleeves loose to the few inches above his wrist and tugged on a pair of form fitting pants. They had a two rows of black velvet buttons and sat high on his hips. He had commissioned a set of jackets when Master Geyer told him of the event, and pulled the first one out of his closet.

It was a hooded coat, lined with black fur. The edges of the sleeves were intricately beaded in a geometric pattern which was copied on the tails of the coat that just brushed the backs of his knees. He buttoned up the coat to his sternum, fingers brushing along the velvet piping at the hem before he fastened a wide belt around his waist.

Isaac was waiting in the hall when he stepped out of his room. “I didn’t know you owned that much black,” Stiles said with a grin.

Isaac had gone for simplicity in the form of long coat with narrow lapels and plain trousers. Tall black boots covered his feet, and a long black scarf was wound loosely around his neck. He narrowed his eyes.

“Well, you look like you’re trying to impress someone,” Isaac replied.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles huffed.

“Maybe I’ll let slip to Sir Hale that you’ve got your eye on someone else.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at his brother.

“Actually, I would dare, but I’d never,” Isaac replied, waving a hand. “You two are disgustingly adorable.”

“Are you talking about Stiles and Sir Hale?” Erica asked as she came out of her room, her cloak draped over one arm. “They are gross.”

“Not you too,” Stiles sighed, reaching for the coat.

Erica was dressed in a two tone black shirt tucked into black pants. She had a long black surcoat over it, looser than was typically showcased in Beacon fashion. She relinquished the coat when Stiles reached for it, and turned to let him drape it over her shoulders. It was actually a caplet, covered with feathers and featuring a high neck.

“I’m only telling you that because he’s obviously interested as well,” Erica said as she turned, pulling her blonde hair from the neck of the caplet and smoothing it down. “He doesn’t look at anyone like he looks at you.”

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Stiles grumbled.

“He’s halfway in love with you already,” Isaac said as he descended the stairs. “Don’t be coy and ruin it.”

“I’m not coy,” Stiles protested as he jogged to catch up, Erica following sedately.

“Because you’re bad at it,” Isaac said with a grin. “You should just tell him you like him.”

“Or I could wait till he puts the moves on.”

“Stop being a baby, Stiles. You look too good to be whining like that,” Erica sighed, reaching forward to tug at his coat where it met the bottom of his belt.

“Well, thanks, I guess. I need to make a detour to the greenhouse before we leave.”

“We’ll be out front,” Erica said as she took Isaac’s arm and steered him towards the double doors.

Stiles made his way through the kitchen and picked up a small portion of leftover ham and ducked through the back door into the garden. As he made his way down the winding path towards the greenhouse he spotted movement in the underbrush.

“Come on out, big guy,” Stiles said softly, crouching as he offered out the hand with the chunk of ham.

The large black wolf slunk out of the brush, as if ashamed of being caught.

“You don’t have to worry,” Stiles said to him. “I’m the only one who knows you’re here.” At that, the wolf wagged his tail and trotted forward to gently pluck the meat from Stiles’ fingers. “You want to see something?” he asked it.

The wolf gave a short, quiet bark and Stiles laughed, stood, and lead him towards the greenhouse. He glanced down at the wolf, who was peering at a gardenia flowering near the door, before he deactivated the ward around the lock.

“Gardenias mean secret love,” Stiles offered as he pushed the door open. He made his way to the back of the greenhouse where a couple of lone plants sat on a stretch of table. They were all so dark as to nearly be black, and he carefully cut a couple of flowers from their plants with the small knife that he always kept hanging from a chain at his throat.

“Dahlias mean dignity,” Stiles said to the wolf, who was sitting and watching with rapt attention. These particular dahlias were a deep crimson. “Pansies mean thoughts of a lover,” he said, adding them to the chain, tied together with black grass, their deep purple mingling easily with the dahlias. Together they were nearly indistinguishable from black.

“My mom taught me how to grow black flowers,” he said to the wolf as he settled the crown on his head. “It’s been passed down for generations.”

The wolf cocked his head, then stepped forward to snuffle against Stiles’ hand.

“I don’t have any more ham,” he laughed. “And I’ve got to get going. I’m going to the festival.”

He stepped around the wolf and waited at the door for the large canine to trot through it before he sank his magic into the wood again, sealing the door shut against intruders. The wolf wound around his legs once, twice, and a third time before heading around the far side of the house. Stiles brushed the fur off his pants.

“What are those?” Erica asked, clutching his face in her cold hands when he appeared between her and Isaac. “Are those black? Are they real?”

“They’re real,” Stiles confirmed, taking one of her hands firmly in his and rubbing it quickly to produce heat. “I’ve been working on them since Master Geyer told me about the Black Night.”

“They’re beautiful,” Erica sighed.

“Just like you,” Stiles teased as he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.

Isaac appeared at her other side and did the same. “I’m almost jealous,” he put in. “But I also never want the attention that those are going to bring you.”

“You think?”

“They’re another oddity from you, the strange new apothecary. Of course people are going to be all over you about them.”

\---

Isaac was right, of course, and nearly as soon as they reached a populated street, people were asking after the flowers.

“Perhaps I’ll sell them next time there’s a festival,” Stiles said feebly to a woman, leaning as far away from her grabbing hands as politely possible. “They’re rather delicate.”

“Oh, goodness me, I suppose I’ll just wait. I’ll be in to see Master Geyer as soon as the festival is over to demand them in stock,” the busty, silk clad woman said, tossing her furs over her shoulder before leaving.

“I never want to see her again,” Stiles grumbled.

“You could probably make a lot of money off of her, though,” Isaac said.

“I make a lot of money off of all my products,” he replied, scratching his nose.

“Where did you get those gloves?” Erica asked suddenly. Stiles looked down at the soft leather gloves with an intricate floral design stitched across the knuckles.

“Lady Lydia gave them to me,” he said. “Her tailor took my measurements the last time I was at the estate.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, eyes turned back to the crowd, no doubt in search of Sir Boyd.

“Just like you,” Isaac said, grinning as he leaned over to speak to her. Erica swatted at him and Isaac laughed, ducking behind Stiles, who wrapped Erica up in his arms and spun her away from her brother.

“You two are idiots,” she huffed, but they could see the smile she was trying to hide.

“But we’re your favorite idiots,” Stiles said as he sandwiched her between them.

“The moon must make you sappy,” she grumbled.

“It’s actually the stars,” Stiles laughed. “The moon makes me hor-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Stiles,” Erica threatened as Isaac groaned theatrically.

“You ruin all my fun,” Stiles sighed.

Erica chuckled and kissed him on the cheek. “Good thing Sir Hale is here to provide you with some.”

Stiles’ eyes shot up to scan the square, only to shoot back to his sister when she laughed. Stiles reached around and twisted his fingers into her armpit, reveling in the squeal she let out. She tore away and Stiles took off after her, laughing at her laughter as she crossed the square, ducking vendors and side stepping other civilians.

“You can’t catch me,” Erica teased, easily evading Stiles’ swipe at her. “I’m practically a real knight!”

“We’ll see about that!” Stiles replied as he vaulted a low bench and cut across a small impromptu dance floor to encircle his arms around Erica’s waist, nearly tipping her off balance before she crashed into a low stone wall surrounding a garden. “Hah!”

“Very well done,” an amused voice professed from behind them.

“Sir Hale!” Stiles said, grinning as he turned, Erica still tucked under his arm.

“You look dashing tonight, Sir,” Erica said, giving him a saucy wink.

“That’s my line!” Stiles protested, watching Sir Hale’s ears burn red with the remark.

“I’ll see you in practice for that comment, Erica,” Sir Hale replied, eyes betraying his amusement.

“It will be worth it, I’m sure. Do you know where Sir Boyd is?”

“He’s with Scott and your brother by the lantern seller,” Sir Hale said. Erica turned to leave and he added, “he was quite saddened when he thought you weren’t attending tonight.”

Erica shot him a look before hurrying off towards the booth.

Stiles and Sir Hale were left alone in front of the gate to garden, which Stiles recognized belatedly, led to the strange magic stump he had been leaving his flowers at.

“You do look impeccable tonight, Sir Hale,” Stiles said, glancing up at the knight from under his lashes.

He was dressed in a sleeveless black brocade tunic that cinched at the sides and buttoned up to his neck in two neat rows over a black tunic, and a black silk cravat tied around his neck. He had polished black leather boots over neatly creased trousers and a large black fur cloak, attached to his shoulders with a braided black rope.

Sir Hale gave a shallow bow and offered his hand to Stiles. “I am thoroughly enchanted by you. Your flowers are stunning, as usual.”

Stiles flushed and felt his heart pound heavily in his chest as he accepted Sir Hale’s hand. Sir Hale gently raised it to his mouth and pressed a burning kiss to his largest knuckle.

“Thank you. You should see what I’ve chosen for tomorrow,” Stiles stammered, adjusting his flower crown with the hand not presently caught by Sir Hale.

“I look forward to it,” Sir Hale replied as he tucked Stiles hand in the crook of his arm. “Would you care to find your family?”

“I don’t mind spending time with you, alone,” Stiles added, glancing up at the taller man. “I trust you not to impugn my honor here in public.”

Sir Hale cleared his throat and tightened his grip on Stiles’ fingers before letting it drop. “Your honor is safe with me.”

“Well, all of me feels safe with you,” Stiles said, smoothing his fingers of the soft material of Sir Hale’s sleeve.

“Truly?”

“Why would I lie about something like that?” Stiles asked. “I’ve not felt safe often, so I revel in it.”

“You haven’t felt safe?”

“Beacon is safe,” Stiles replied. “You’re safe. What are they doing?”

Stiles pointed to a group of people in a cordoned off area, nearly naked and rubbing oil into each others’ skin. Sir Hale laughed at Stiles’ scandalized gasp.

“They’re preparing for a time honored tradition. They’re going to be wrestling.”

“Naked?”

“Everyone is on equal footing that way,” Sir Hale said, steering him towards the group. “Sir Boyd has won the last two years, but decided not to compete this year.”

“Because of Erica?” Stiles asked.

Sir Hale gave a small smirk and shrugged.

“Well, joke’s on him, because Erica would have loved that,” Stiles said smugly, making Sir Hale choke.

“Perhaps next year,” he said.

“So explain why this is happening,” Stiles said, pulling Sir Hale even closer to the fence.

“It’s just something fun to do, always on the last night of festivals. It’s about showing off and having fun. They cover themselves in oil and wrestle. After the winner is announced, they race out to the river to bathe,” Sir Hale explained. “It’s about respect and companionship at that point.”

“Have you ever done it?” Stiles asked.

Sir Hale shook his head, ears turning pink again. “No, I could never bring myself to do it. My elder sister won two years before Sir Boyd, though.”

“She did? That’s amazing! How many siblings do you have?”

“Three, two older and one younger,” Sir Hale said. A shout drew their attention, and Erica and Sir Boyd approached, Erica dragging the larger man by the hand.

“Sir Boyd just told me he didn’t participate this year because of me,” Erica said, eyes flashing. “Tell him how stupid that was, Stiles.”

“Erica wants to see you oiled up and rolling around the ground,” Stiles said with a grin, stepping back when Erica took a swing at him, growling. Sir Hale set a steadying hand on his back.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Erica huffed, cheeks pink, but she froze when a deep laugh resonated from the large man behind her.

“Next year, I’ll win for you,” Sir Boyd said, eyes warm as he looked down at the blonde woman in front of him.

Erica’s lip quivered a moment before she threw herself at him, arms around his neck as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You can’t go back, you’ve promised,” she said.

“I would never,” Sir Boyd said, gently setting her on the ground and wrapping an arm around her, grinning smugly at Sir Hale.

“We welcome you to this festival’s wrestling tournament!” a tall woman in a long dress announced, interrupting whatever argument the two knights were going to start. “The rules are as follows: no grabbing of genitalia, no grabbing of hair, no spitting or biting, and no going for the eyes. You must entrap your opponent to a count of five or throw them out of the ring. The winner will win the pot,” she gestured to a large copper bowl held by a young man, “and will be honored at the ceremony tomorrow.”

The first two contestants entered the ring, a young man with auburn hair and an older woman, whose hair was pulled back into a severe braid. They met in the middle with a slick slap, their skin sliding against each other as they tried to find a grip. Occasionally one of them would slip and the other would pounce, trying to pin them down. It was a long process, but eventually the woman was named the victor.

Stiles leaned back into Sir Hale’s hand. “How many rounds are there?”

“It depends on the number of contestants. There don’t seem to be many this year, so it shouldn’t take more than an hour,” Sir Hale said, his breath tickling Stiles’ ear and making him shiver in delight. Sir Hale apparently mistook the shiver for a chill, and draped one side of his cloak over Stiles’ shoulders, tucking him tighter against his side.

“Thank you,” Stiles murmured, pressing his nose into the soft fur.

They watched the wrestling eagerly, Stiles and Erica whooping and cheering for their favorites in each round, sometimes even betting against each other. Sir Hale stayed pressed to Stiles side the entire time, hand gently touching Stiles’ elbow, his back, his shoulder, his hand. Stiles reached back between competitors and gently twined their fingers together, flushing as he avoided eye contact with the older man and yelled loudly at a particularly bad hold that one of the wrestlers had.

Stiles could feel Sir Hale’s thumb tracing soft circles on the back of his hand through the leather of his glove.

“Your final two fighters are Valerie Clark and Kincaid, your resident wrestler. This is not a timed match. Begin!”

The two wrestlers met in a clash, Valerie, a shorter but sturdy woman with dark hair and tan skin had an immediate grip around one of the man’s thighs. The man, Kincaid, was heavily muscled and bald, nearly twice his opponent’s size. She ducked under his arm and pushed one of his feet from under him, causing him to slip on the oily stone.

He retaliated by wrapping a firm arm around her waist and throwing her back to the ground. She rolled when he tried to pin her and slid her leg out of his grip to wrap around his neck. She flipped them over and pressed her heel into one of his wrists. Kincaid’s fingers scrabbled against Valerie’s calf, but she leaned forward, increasing the pressure on his throat.

“That was a good hold,” Erica said when the announcer called the match. “I think I’d like to learn.”

“Fully dressed, with instruction,” Sir Hale said over Stiles’ head. “We’ll offer lessons to any of you recruits that want them.”

“Thank you, Sir Hale! I can’t wait to put Jackson in the dirt.”

“I’m sure Sir Whittemore would say the same about you,” Sir Boyd said dryly.

“He would,” Erica sniffed, eyes glinting in disdain.

“I’m going to leave them to it,” Stiles whispered to Sir Hale, who nodded and followed when Stiles broke away from the crowd and headed towards the gates out of the city.

“Where are you planning on going?” Sir Hale asked, easily keeping pace enough to keep his cloak partially draped over Stiles, who grinned.

“Out to where the stars are falling.”

“We can still see them inside the walls.”

“Are you telling me you don’t want to escape a little bit?” Stiles teased.

“I always want to escape a little bit,” Sir Hale grumbled, startling a laugh from Stiles.

“Well, then let’s go!” Stiles let go of Sir Hale’s hand and dashed towards the gate, one hand on his crown to keep it from toppling from his head. Stiles heard footsteps behind him and risked a glance back to see Sir Hale moving after him, struggling to move politely through the crowds.

Stiles burst out of the gate and into the clear moonlit field, Sir Hale only steps behind him. He spun and met the older man head on with a grin. “You know, you’re not nearly intimidating as I first believed you to be.”

“You thought I was intimidating?” Sir Hale asked, beginning a slow circle around Stiles, who flushed.

“No,” he lied, and Sir Hale laughed.

“It’s a reasonable assumption. I try to be with my recruits.”

“But not with me?”

Sir Hale paused before answer, still making slow circles around Stiles. “It’s hard to keep my walls up around you.”

“Are you saying you like me?” Stiles asked, turning abruptly to face Sir Hale.

“In layman’s terms,” Sir Hale sighed, and Stiles smiled, eyes soft in the moonlight and lips gentle.

“You know, I really enjoy your presence.”

“Are you saying you like me?” Sir Hale mocked, his voice a poor imitation of Stiles’.

Stiles laughed and pulled his gloves off, tucking them into his belt. “You’re a massive dork and I love it. Walk with me,” he ordered, taking one of Sir Hale’s hands in his.

They walked through the field, Stiles’ innate magic subtly keeping them from trampling the grass and wildflowers, watching the sky throw inconsistent stars across the darkness. They had been slowing the last couple of nights, and this was to be the last night they were visible. They approached the edge of the cliff that overlooked the sea and stopped. Stiles rested his head against Sir Hale’s shoulder.

“You know, for being here nearly three years I don’t know a whole lot about Beacon.”

“What do you want to know?” Sir Hale asked, tucking his cloak around the both of them again.

“What’s the royal family like? No one talks about them.”

Sir Hale let out a soft chuckle. “They’re not like a lot of royals, as far as I know. They mingle with the people, they know what’s going on the kingdom because they talk to people. They don’t stand on a lot of ceremony, but the people are their highest concern. One year, when there was a bad harvest, the royal family shared their stores and food from their own table with the people; there were no starvation based deaths that winter.”

“The royal family would do that?” Stiles asked, trying to imagine Gerard doing the same. “That seems...” he trailed off and shrugged.

“As I said, the people are the main concern, and their loyalty. It’s hard to be loyal to someone that lets you starve, I’d assume.”

“You’re right,” Stiles said, offhand. “Are there many festivals like this?”

Sir Hale shot Stiles a glance at his comment, but answered, “not like this, particularly, no. We do have seasonal festivals and celebrations of holidays for the people, and there are more exclusive parties up at the palace.”

“Which you go to, sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

“And dance at,” Stiles said.

“Occasionally. Why?”

“Why did you say you couldn’t dance, the first night? And then say you were an excellent partner last night. And you were!”

Sir Hale flushed and cleared his throat. “The first night, ah, I was trying not to make you uncomfortable. And to be honest, I’m really not a fantastic partner, my sister really does dance much better than I do.”

“You still seemed like you knew what you were doing,” Stiles said, looking up at him.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Sir Hale said stiffly, moving to pull his arm away.

Stiles clutched at it, pulling it tighter around his shoulders and pressing Sir Hale’s forearm into his jaw. “I don’t mind the reason behind it, I’m glad you wanted me to feel comfortable, but you really don’t need to lie to me, Sir Hale. Ever. You can trust me.”

“Thank you, Stiles.”

“I mean it,” Stiles said, turning in Sir Hale’s hold to nearly press himself against the knight’s front, looking up into his face.

“You can trust me, too,” Sir Hale said, reaching up with his other hand to cup Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles leaned into it, turning to press a soft kiss to his open palm.

“Stiles,” Sir Hale murmured, voice cracking.

“We’re on a first name basis, now, are we?” Stiles teased, eyes sparkling in the starlight.

“I’m sorry, was that too forward?” Sir Hale asked, leaning back.

“No,” Stiles assured him. “I like it. But I don’t actually know your name.”

Sir Hale smiled and glanced up at the moon, hanging low in the sky as the horizon brightened faintly across the water. He looked back at Stiles, gray green eyes gleaming.

“I would be honored if you called me Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update, I've been super busy with work and my health.
> 
> As always, I love comments, or come visit me at tomcatgirl.tumblr.com!


	8. The White Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last bit of the festival, fluff, and meeting the Queen.

“Derek,” Stiles said slowly, rolling the word through his mouth. “It suits you. It’s powerful,” he murmured, reaching up to brush his gloved fingers over the edge of the other man’s jaw.

“So I’ve been told,” Derek replied, pressing forward into Stiles’ hand. “I often feel I don’t live up to it.”

Stiles blinked slowly up at him and then leaned up on his toes, lips brushing the knight’s, fingers trailing down Derek’s throat to clutch at his tunic. Derek’s lips were firm and felt like silk beneath Stiles’, and he pulled back to catch his eye.

“That’s alright. You don’t always need to be perfect. Perfection is a sliding scale anyway,” Stiles said with a grin. “And I think that kiss was perfect.”

“Oh? What about this one?” Derek asked, reeling him in with a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. Their lips collided, and Derek slid his tongue across the seam of Stiles’ mouth, which he eagerly opened to reciprocate. Stiles fought to strip his gloves off during the kiss, giving an embarrassingly high pitched whine when he finally managed to press a bare hand to the warm skin of Derek’s jaw, fingers tangling in the soft beard there.

They pulled apart for air what felt like hours later. They were both breathing heavily, and Stiles’ crown sat askew on his head. Sir Hale leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, sharing breath as they panted. “Perfection?”

“Definitely,” Stiles said, eyes bright and lips pulled back in a wide smile. “I feel I’ll be in raptures over your touch until I die.”

Derek leaned back to resettle Stiles’ crown for him, and Stiles could see him trying to restrain a smile.

“What?” Stiles asked, catching the edge of the crown and bringing it down between them.

“You speak your mind so freely. It’s,” he paused and looked down at the circlet in their hands, “refreshing, I suppose. Everyone is so afraid of sounding a fool that they hold themselves back. I can only imagine what would have happened if I had done so with you.”

“I would have wooed you by the next festival,” Stiles laughed, plucking a pansy from his crown before tucking it into the clasp of the knight’s cape.

“Or perhaps some other handsome person would have swept you off your feet,” Derek said, placing the crown back on Stiles’ head.

“I require more than a pretty face, Sir Hale,” Stiles teased. “Whomever sweeps me off my feet must also be strong and kind, generous, devoted, and warm hearted.”

“And I meet those qualifications?” he asked, raising a single thick brow.

“Technically you haven’t actually swept me off my feet,” Stiles goaded, hands tracing across Derek’s shoulders and coming to rest on his chest. “And I know you’re capable. You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Maybe. I can’t show my entire hand at once, can I?” Derek asked, ducking down to press a hot kiss to the ridge where Stiles’ jaw met his ear, teeth grazing the skin with a gentle scrape.

“Oh, Goddess,” Stiles gasped, hands tangling in Derek’s hair as he tilted his head farther into the other man’s mouth. “Still haven’t swept me off my feet,” he panted as Derek’s lips moved farther down his neck.

Sir Hale looked up with a smirk.

“No, no, you should definitely go back to what you were doing,” Stiles said, tugging ineffectually on the thick locks clasped between his fingers.

“I thought you wanted me to sweep you off your feet?”

“I don’t know what I want,” Stiles said. “I just want you, so get back down here.”

“Or you could come up here,” he said, swiftly crouching to get an arm around Stiles’ knees and hoist him up into the cradle of his arms.

Stiles wrapped one arm around Derek’s neck and twisted the other hand into his cravat as he pressed his nose into the stubble of the other man’s jaw. “You, Sir Hale, Derek,” he purred, reveling in the way the other man shivered, “are perfect.”

Derek said nothing, just turned his head to capture Stiles’ lips again, his beard dragging against his skin. Stiles scratched through Derek’s beard, fingers curling in the thick scruff before he wound around to the hair at the back of his head. Derek’s mouth moved softly yet insistently against Stiles’, tongue and teeth in unison dragging sighs and quiet moans from Stiles. They stood in the slowly lightening field, Stiles still cradled in Derek’s arms until a loud bell from the center of town began to toll, it’s long, deep notes carrying easily beyond the city walls.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked as he pulled away, craning his head to look over Derek’s shoulder towards the city.

“The Sun’s Bell,” Derek sighed. “It calls everyone back to their homes to prepare for the dawn.”

“Oh, the White Dawn,” Stiles said, remembering what Master Geyer had told him about the two days. “And then at noon the festival officially ends.”

“Yes.” Derek easily set Stiles down, hands brushing lightly over his coat to straighten any wrinkles.

“Why do you look so sad?” Stiles asked, reaching up to smooth the crease between Derek’s eyebrows. “Perhaps the festival is over, but we’ll still be okay, right?”

“You wish to continue to see me after the festival?” Sir Hale asked, looking somewhere near Stiles’ chin instead of his eyes.

“Don’t be dense, of course I do,” Stiles said. “Unless you took me for a cyprian?”

Derek jerked his head back, scandalized. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Then we have nothing to fear,” Stiles said, stepping closer and lifting Derek’s arm to duck under it into the warmth of his cloak. “You will take me home, and I will see you with the dawn, yes?”

“Of course,” Derek said, resting his chin among the fragrant flowers at the top of Stiles’ head. “Nothing could stop me.”

\---

“Where were you and Sir Hale all night?” Erica asked as soon as he slid through the kitchen door. Stiles darted over to her and swept her up into his arms with a laugh.

“In the field, under the stars,” he professed, smiling so wide his eyes began to water. “And we’re to see each other with the dawn, and we kissed,” he sighed, spinning to crash into Isaac and drape himself over his brother’s back. “It was magical and romantic, and he literally swept me off my feet.”

“Well, Boyd and I had a serious discussion that until we were on equal terms with the guard we can’t progress our relationship,” Erica pouted. “However, that’s just incentive for me to work harder to make the Queen’s Guard.”

Erica and Stiles turned in unison to look at Isaac, who flushed.

“Scott and I held hands,” he muttered.

With squeals of delight and peals of laughter, Erica and Stiles wound him in a massive hug and nuzzled into his shoulders.

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Erica hummed. “You two are cute, and I’m glad you’re moving at your own pace.”

“Me too,” Isaac said, a small smile on his lips.

“If he pushes you, just say the word,” Stiles said, chin propped on Isaac’s shoulder.

“I don’t think he will. I think we’re on the same page, and don’t want to go very far.” Isaac paused, and his siblings looked at him. “Ever,” he added. “It’s just not something I’m into.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles said immediately. “Sir Hale and I will have enough sex for the both of us.”

“I really didn’t need to hear that,” came an exasperated sigh from the doorway.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, letting go of Isaac to turn around and lean against the table. “You going to join us in talking about your lady love?”

“My ‘lady love’ deserves better than to be gossiped about at the breakfast table,” John said dryly, sitting heavily onto the bench across from his kids.

“I’m sure she’s gushing, just like we are,” Erica said with a grin. “Otherwise I don’t know what to think about your wooing capabilities.”

“You shouldn’t be thinking about me wooing anyone,” John huffed, helping himself to some fried potatoes.

“Does today have anything to do with wooing anybody?” Stiles asked. “I never really got to hear anything about the White Dawn.”

“The White Dawn is all about new beginnings,” John said as he poured a glass of juice. “So, yes, for a lot of people proposals or wooing are part of it. It also includes employers offering better positions to employees, or families offering inheritances, that sort of thing.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Isaac said. “I wonder if Deucalion will offer me anything better.”

Stiles saw John hide a smile behind his cup and ducked his head to hide his own smile. The Constable apparently knew something, but Stiles would be damned if he ruined a surprise like that for Isaac.

“You kids should probably go get dressed,” John said as he unbuckled the belt holding his baton and set it on the table. “You never know who could show up.”

Erica jumped up with a grin and leaned over the table towards him. “What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything,” John professed with a smirk. “It’s just the nature of the day.”

“Alright, I can tell when something’s up,” Isaac said, standing as well.

Stiles squinted at his dad, who was drinking steadily from his cup and determinedly not making eye contact with any of his children. John glanced up and frowned at him.

Stiles held his hands up in surrender and backed towards the door. “I don’t know anything.”

“Keep it that way, will you?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Stiles said with a grin.

Upstairs he ran into Erica, who was quickly rubbing herself down with a towel as she headed towards his room. “Do you still have any of that makeup left?” she asked.

“Yeah, hold on,” he said as he pushed his door open and moved to his desk. “You going to do it yourself?”

“I was talking to Sir Argent about it last night,” Erica said, “and Lady Martin had some good tips, so I’m going to try it.”

Stiles kissed her on the cheek as he handed her the small pots and shooed her out of his room. “Give some to Isaac, too.”

The ensemble of the day was commissioned alongside the coat from the night before, but instead of being black velvet and brocade, this one was white silk overlaid with lace. The tailor that created the garments proclaimed them to the be at the height of forward thinking fashion and was eager to debut the work on the auspicious day.

The neckline was high, and sat straight across his collar bones, the silk sliding across his skin as the intricate lace settled down his sides. The back of the shirt dipped low at the shoulders into a deep plunge, a silver chain hung between his shoulder blades to counter the weight of the front of the garment. The sleeves were chiffon covered in lace and fitted down to the wrist, where a double row of tiny buttons rested.

The pants were fitted at the hips and stopped below the knee, matching lace crawling delicately up to his mid thigh. Stiles tied on a simple pair of sandals common in Beacon in the warmer months, lacing the white leather cords around his ankles. He ran his hands through his hair and looked out the window, where the merest hint of dawn was on the horizon.

He gathered the last part of his outfit into his arms, a bundle of chiffon, and headed to Erica’s room, where he could hear her and Isaac arguing.

“It’s going to look fine, Isaac,” Erica was saying as he slid into the room. “I promise it won’t wash you out.”

“Stiles, tell her she’s being unreasonable,” Isaac sighed, holding Erica’s wrists as she tried to go after his face with a brush dipped in silver.

“I don’t know what you guys are going on about,” Stiles said. “But you’ll look fine with makeup, if the other night is anything to go by.”

“But it’s going to be light out!” Isaac whined.

“So? Highlight those cheekbones, Erica,” Stiles ordered with a grin. “Show off a little bit.”

“What are you going to be doing?” Isaac asked, dropping Erica’s wrists with a sigh.

“Also highlighting. Don’t mind me,” Stiles said, turning around.

“Stiles!” Erica gasped, head twisted away from Isaac’s face. “What are you trying to pull?”

Stiles smirked as he shook, making the chain between his shoulder blades tinkle softly with the movement. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Scandalous,” Isaac snickered. “Sir Hale will take notice of you for sure.”

“I’ve got a coat,” Stiles replied primly, holding up the see through chiffon he brought with him. He settled in front of Erica’s vanity and perched his crown on his head, woven of white heather and crocus blossoms.

“Yeah, a coat,” Erica snorted. “Upstaging me again, I see.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve already got Sir Boyd wrapped around your finger,” Stiles said. “You don’t have to worry about me snatching your man away.”

“You would never.”

“You’re right, but I can never be too sure about other people,” Stiles said. “Now hurry up and give me that paint.”

\---

“Isaac!” John called from the foyer. “You’ve got a visitor!”

Isaac shot up off of Erica’s bed, eyes frantic as Erica and Stiles turned to him. He took off towards the stairs and the other two followed, stopping on the second to last step to see Isaac open the door to reveal Deucalion, the owner of the stables.

“Ah, Isaac,” he drawled. “You’re looking impeccable, today.”

“Thank you, sir,” he stammered.

“As is tradition with a White Dawn, I would like to formally request that you become a trainer for my stables. I have watched you succeed with every horse I’ve assigned you, and you’ve taken care of them as if they were your own. I can clearly see your passion for the animals, and I would be satisfied with no less than your acceptance of the position.”

“What? I mean, of course, yes, I accept, thank you Sir!” Isaac exclaimed, eyes bright and a wide smile on his face. “There’s nothing I’d like more!”

“I am pleased to hear it. I expect you at the usual time tomorrow. Eat a healthy breakfast, you’ll begin training with young Corey then. Have a wonderful Dawn, Isaac. Constable,” he said, dipping a shallow bow to John before turning on his heel and striding back down the path.

“Did you hear that? He wants me to be a trainer!” Isaac cried, spinning to face his family. “I’ve been dreaming about this for years!”

“I’m so proud of you, Isaac,” John said, wrapping him a massive hug. Stiles and Erica joined a moment later, laughing.

A timid knock on the door made them pause, and Erica darted over to open it. Scott stood on the threshold, a small bouquet of white lilies in his hands.

“Is Isaac in?” he asked.

The man in question appeared in the doorway, pushing his sister out of the way as he did so. The two boys stared at each other for a long moment, both blushing.

“I got you these,” Scott said quickly, eyes darting to Stiles before return to Isaac.

“Thank you,” Isaac said as he accepted them with a smile. “They’re beautiful.”

“I’ll put them in water,” Stiles said, coming up behind Isaac. “You two go have fun.”

“Thanks, Stiles.” Isaac hugged him before linking arms with Scott and heading off into town.

Erica shut the door with a faint scowl.

“What’s that look for?” John asked.

“I can’t believe Scott was the one to show up first,” she huffed. “Not that I’m not happy for Isaac, I really am, but I am gone on Sir Boyd.”

Stiles snickered and sauntered over to sling an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t get too worked up, yet. It’s not even sunrise yet.”

There was another knock at the door, but it sounded odd, as if two people knocked at once. Stiles and Erica looked at each other before racing to the door, shoving as they went. Stiles reached it first and lifted the latch, but Erica flung the door open.

Sirs Boyd and Hale both stood there, both slightly out of breath and faintly flushed. Stiles grinned.

“The dashing knights arrive,” he said. “Erica here was just moping, Sir Boyd.”

“Stiles dressed with you in mind, Sir Hale,” Erica countered, flashing her teeth at her brother.

Stiles blushed as Sir Hale smiled, then produced a bundle of laurestine and honeysuckle, tied neatly together with a white silk ribbon. Stiles gaped, eyes becoming arguably damp before he took the flowers and buried his nose in them. He flashed a blinding smile at the knight as he reached forward, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“I love them,” Stiles said, wishing that they would never wilt. “They’re beautiful.”

Sir Hale smiled in relief, the faint wrinkles around his eyes smoothing as he relaxed. “I’m glad. Would you like me to wait as you put them in water?” he asked.

Stiles nodded, and Erica and Sir Boyd, who were wrapped around each other, promised to wait for his return before they left. Stiles backed into the house and shut the door quietly before he spun to face his father.

“Dad!” he hissed, face lit with joy as he entered the kitchen. “Do you know what these mean?”

“Well, your mother always loved honeysuckle because it was a symbol of devotion,” John said with a small smile.

Stiles grinned at his father and set the flowers in a blown glass vase. “Sir Hale gave them to me. Laurestine is a token plant, and sign of intent.”

“And you’re serious about this man?”

“I am.”

“And you’re comfortable with him?”

“Yes.”

“Your...” John waved a hand in the direction of Stiles, indicating magic, and Stiles snorted.

“We’ll cover that eventually, I’m sure.”

“Alright. Remember, he may be a knight, but I’m still a constable. If he hurts you,” John broke off with a sigh. “You can take care of yourself, I know, but my old protectiveness is still there.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said softly, resting a hand on John’s shoulder. “I’ll be careful.”

Outside, Erica was laughing at something that had left Sirs Boyd and Hale looking sour. Stiles threaded his arm through one of Sir Hale’s and towed him towards the gate. He heard a faint cough from Sir Boyd and Stiles smirked over his shoulder, his broad back on full display to the large knight.

“That’s what I said,” Erica murmured, and Stiles laughed.

The small group entered the marketplace just as the sun was coming up, the first rays of light peeking over the city wall and slowly bathing the gathered crowds in golden light. Stiles took a chance to look at Sir Derek Hale, fully, in the light.

He was in light ceremonial armor, polished white and damascened with gold. The gold splayed across the shoulders in a repeating floral motif, which was continued at the cuisse and greaves. A swath of white velvet draped elegantly at his hips and stopped just below the knee. The clawed fingers of his gauntlets were also inlaid with gold, flowers blossoming across his knuckles. The mail suit below the armor was a polished gold, gleaming in the light. A white cape, spun of silk, was tucked up beneath his pauldrons and swirled out behind him in the slightest breeze. A woven gold circlet rested on his forehead, a single white moonstone set in the center.

Stiles could feel his heart flip at the sight of Sir Hale in all his glory, and he had to swallow twice before his throat worked enough to croak out the words, “you’re a sight to behold, Sir Hale.”

The knight flushed, and Sir Boyd snickered behind his hand. Erica beamed.

“I’m glad you think so,” Sir Hale said, clearing his throat. “My sisters were insistent that I look presentable today.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you any less than presentable in all the time I’ve lived here,” Stiles replied. Sir Hale smiled down at Stiles, who took his arm and spun him towards the market. “Come, I want to see the new wares for the day.”

Stiles kept Sir Hale at his side as they strolled through the stalls set up for the day. He was determined to ask Sir Hale about the significance of the flowers on his armor, so Stiles casually steered Sir Hale towards the less populated side of the market. He went easily, listening as Stiles greeted the shop owners and talked about their wares.

“Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” Stiles gasped, nearly pulling Sir Hale to a stop at the last booth. He pointed at a small velvet pillow, on which sat an intricately crafted gold ring that would span the length between knuckles and was set with a white stone over the metacarpal knuckle. “You must have had offers on it previously,” Stiles said to the merchant.

“In all fairness and honesty, you are the first to inquire after it,” the merchant said with a shallow bow. “A shame, truly, for it is a beautiful piece.”

“Did you make it yourself? Is it an original?”

“My sister makes all of these pieces,” he said. “I lean more towards decorative weaponry. We’ve been working on creating jewelry that doubles as self defense pieces.”

Sir Hale leaned over one of the necklaces on the table, reaching out to brush a finger over the fine chain. “I have never seen a metal such as this,” he said. “What is it?”

“Rhodium,” he replied eagerly. “Incredibly reflective and equally strong. It is a very difficult metal to work with, and is therefore rather expensive.”

Sir Hale hummed thoughtfully and straightened, slowly walking the length of the stall as Stiles returned to the ring.

“What makes that shape in the light?” he asked of the paler white lines emanating from the center of the stone.

“It’s a star sapphire,” the merchant explained. “It’s a naturally occurring phenomenon called asterism, which are really just deposits of another mineral. The more points to the star, the more valuable, especially since it is most often found in blue sapphires.”

“So this is horrifically expensive,” Stiles said, taking a small step back.

“I am afraid so. The materials alone are a small fortune, let alone time and labor,” the merchant said apologetically.

“Why are you not nearer the center of the market?” Sir Hale asked with a frown. “Surely with your knowledge and expertise, as well as your stellar work, you could not get a booth closer to the square center?”

“We rarely make sales,” he confessed. “And our prices are high because of our quality, and we are not willing to compromise. Not many people know of our work. My sister and I make our real money selling trinkets and small wares, not our better works.”

“If those who regularly attend court began to wear them, do you think your market would increase?” Sir Hale asked. The man’s eyes brightened, and he ducked a shallow bow.

“My sister and I would be indebted to you if you could get our pieces into court. That would surely create demand, and we have more than enough to satisfy at least a few courtiers.”

“You will be here through the day?” Sir Hale asked.

“My sister will be here to relieve me in an hour’s time, but the stall will be here until nightfall.”

“Then I will return after I’ve finished my business for the day. Be well, and good luck.”

Stiles and Sir Hale drifted over to a low wall, into which was built a small fountain with a wide ledge. Stiles sat and tucked one leg under himself, sweeping his thin gossamer vest cape around into his lap to keep it from trailing in the water. There was a small bird in one of the trees behind the wall, and it softly whistled, it’s song carried on the air.

“Your armor is beautiful, Sir Hale,” Stiles said, looking up at the knight.

He flushed, and ran a hand over one of the engravings. “I had it made for today. For you.”

“For me?” Stiles asked, eyes darting up to his.

“The flowers, you were wearing these when I first saw you,” he said in a rush, touching the image of curved leaves, strung together. “And these, when we first spoke,” he said of the clumps of five petaled flowers.

“Poet’s laurel and plumeria,” Stiles said, mouth dropping faintly open with delight. “How on earth did you remember?”

“I find it impossible to forget you,” Sir Hale said.

Stiles looked up again, eyes bright. “Derek,” he said slowly, savoring the way the other man seemed to relax and stiffen all at once with the word. “I implore you not to play with my emotions. If this is a trick, or some scheme--”

“I would ask for your consent to court you.” Derek took a small step forward and sat carefully on the edge of the fountain as he pulled a small bundle from the bag at his belt. “With this token I reassure you that this courtship is on your terms. Should you refuse me, I shall leave you a broken man and never hint at my affections again. Should you accept my courtship, you are under no obligation to continue it if ever you feel you must rebuff me.”

He carefully unwrapped the small bundle and presented Stiles with a small glass orb free of imperfections. In the center, encased in the glass was a single flower.

“Is that arbutus?” Stiles asked, reaching out to touch.

Derek nodded, gingerly depositing the small orb into Stiles’ hands.

He looked up. “Derek, I don’t know what to say.” The knight’s face fell, and Stiles rushed to get his next words out. “You have done so much, the armor, this token, and what have I to give? I’m an apothecary, I cannot show my affection by way of objects or ornaments. I am a stranger to this land, I do not know the customs or the etiquette here, but I know we are of different stations. I could not be comfortable with this courtship knowing that you may be lowering yourself in society because of me.”

Derek reeled back, face a mask of shock. “You think you are beneath me? Because of our stations, our funds?”

“Am I not? I could not commission a crafted piece of armor, let alone a set. I could never afford glass this beautifully worked simply for the pleasure of looking at it. I can afford books, and seeds, and bottles.”

Sir Hale turned to fully face Stiles. “May I ask you a question? And will you answer honestly?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you hold any affection for me?”

Stiles stared, confused, at the older man. “Of course I hold affection for you. More than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Then won’t you allow me to court you?”

Stiles sucked in a breath, eyes closing as he let out in one long, slow, stream. He opened them, whiskey and honey glowing as he smiled. “I would regret for the rest of my days if I denied you.”

Derek leaned forward, allowing Stiles time to pull away if he wished. Their lips met, and Stiles smiled against Derek’s, fingers coming up to trace the golden outline of the flowers at the edge of his breastplate.

“Will you come to the palace with me?” Derek asked when they pulled apart.

“Why?”

“I’d like to formally ask permission for Erica to join the Queen’s Guard. She needs a character witness alongside my knights’ testimony, and I’d be honored if it were you.”

Stiles grinned, lips pulling back as he laughed. “Goddess, she’ll be so happy to hear it!” He leaned forward to press a short kiss to Derek’s cheek, right where his beard met smooth skin. “It’s about time, you know.”

“It’s rather symbolic though, isn’t it?” asked Derek as he stood, offering his hand to Stiles to help him up. “Bringing her in during the White Dawn, a festival of rebirth and new beginnings? Many would die having the opportunity.”

“Erica is too strong to die,” Stiles said, smug. “She’d look Death straight in the face and tell him that it’s not her time and she won’t go without a fight.”

“That dedication to life and living will certainly do her well with the Guard. Come, the Queen awaits.”

“The Queen?” Stiles squeaked, tightening his grip on Derek’s arm, just below the elbow. “We’re seeing her personally?”

“She’s listening to petitions to join Her Guard all morning. Private audiences on a public scale.”

“Terrifying, and yet I’m thrilled,” Stiles said, laughing. “Perhaps I’ll see Deaton while we’re there. I haven’t seen the man in a while, and I’m curious to see how he’s doing.”

“As adviser to the Queen, I can only assume he’d be there,” Derek said dryly.

Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes. Derek elbowed him gently and steered him towards the main road that led up to the palace. The cobblestones were neat and even and the path was lined with tall trees and the occasional bench. Guards in the city’s colors, not the Queen’s, stood evenly spaced throughout the walk.

“Well, the palace is gorgeous, and I don’t know how I’ve never been here in nearly three years,” Stiles said as the full scope of the grounds came in sight.

“It gets old when you live here long enough. And having to go to court regularly doesn’t help, either.”

“You just don’t like court because you have to talk to people, don’t you?”

“And listen to their stupidity, and dance with strangers, and yes, talk to people,” Derek sighed. “I am not nearly the socialite I’m afraid you’ll turn out to be.”

\---

They made their way up to the main doors of the palace, which were thrown wide and dozen of people came and went at a steady pace. The entrance way was highly polished marble with deep blue runners up each of the matching staircases that curved around the outside of the foyer. At the end of the main corridor was the Great Hall, at the center of which the Queen sat on a large wooden throne, carved of dark wood and fitted with deep blue velvet cushions. Above the Queen’s head a large triskelion was carved, proclaiming the rule of the family.

A few people flanked the throne, the Queen’s Consort, Deaton, and a paler man that held the Queen’s features on her left, a younger woman that looked like the Queen and Sir Boyd on her right. Derek dropped his hand to Stiles’ back to guide him forward, then flinched as he felt bare skin beneath his hand.

Stiles smirked.

It fell as Derek pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ temple and moved to fill the gap between the woman and Sir Boyd on the Queen’s right. He stared at the Queen a moment before bending into the formal bow that his father had drilled into him their first week in town.

“Don Stilinski,” the Queen began, and he startled. “It is a pleasure to have you in my court at last,” she said, throwing a hard glance at Derek. “I hear that your sister wishes to join the Queen’s Guard. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Stiles said. “It’s been her dream since we arrived.”

“And when was that?”

“Nearly three years ago, Ma’am.”

“And what kind of person is your sister?”

Stiles took a moment to collect his thoughts, gaze wandering to Derek, who smiled encouragingly. “Erica is bright. She learns well and takes well thought criticism well. She helps those who need it, and encourages others when she knows they can help themselves. She can be harsh, and tough love is her most common tool, but she cares deeply. She fights against all odds and comes out on top most of the time. She’s loyal to a fault and believes that respect is earned, not given. She’s a lot to handle sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

“Speaking of fighting all odds, she has a certain condition, doesn’t she?” the Queen asked, leaning forward in her seat.

“She does, Ma’am, but we’ve got it under control.”

“For the moment. You see, Don Stilinski, we cannot have a weak link in the Guard, and that’s why--”

“Erica isn’t weak,” Stiles said loudly, voice echoing in the massive hall. He winced as every eye sharpened on him. “Erica isn’t weak and you shouldn’t worry about something that we’ve been dealing with, and managing, her whole life.”

The Queen leaned back, very nearly reclining, and Stiles could see her muscles coiled as if ready to strike. “I would watch my language, Don Stilinski. I am trying to make you an offer of the highest caliber and yet you put unflattering words in my mouth. I shall try again, and if you interrupt, your sister will suffer for it.”

She raised a hand and Derek stepped forward, hesitating only a moment before he did so. He glanced over his shoulder at the Queen, then forward again, before he rolled his head back, shoulders tensing before he brought his head forward again.

Stiles felt his heart shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, I don't know if I've ever had writer's block that badly!  
> As always, I'm tomcatgirl on tumblr and I love feedback/comments/discussion any time.  
> Thank you for reading and I'll try to get another chapter up by the end of the month!


	9. Confrontations and Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen tells a story and Stiles and Derek have a heart to heart.

_She raised a hand and Derek stepped forward, hesitating only a moment before he did so. He glanced over his shoulder at the Queen, then forward again, before he rolled his head back, shoulders tensing before he brought his head forward again._

_Stiles felt his heart shatter._

In an instant Stiles channeled his magic and pulled, manipulating it in a way that was new, shattering one of the massive stained glass windows that lined the throne room. The glass fell in, swirling around Stiles as he ran for the window before falling to the floor as he jumped. He landed in a roll down the slanted tile roof of the building and pushed off across the buttress to the next building. He ducked down, sinking his fingers into the stone as he descended to the nearest ledge.

He heard a howl from the broken window and threw himself off the next ledge. He felt the magic take him, and in the next moment he was shrouded in the trees that surrounded the wall of the palace. Stiles slunk out of the tree and into the nearest shrub, flitting from plant to plant on his way back to the estate.

He burst through the back door, the plants in the garden larger than they had been, filled with his magic. “Dad! Erica! Isaac!” he cried, bolting for the stairs, tripping up them as he rushed for his room. Erica and Isaac opened their doors as John leaned out of the library.

“What’s wrong? Stiles?” Isaac asked, eyes worried as he made to approach his brother.

“Grab your bag, we have to leave,” he said, disappearing into his own room. “The Royal Family knows about the beasts!” he yelled.

When he emerged from his room again, the other three were there, bags in hand and their cloaks from the Hill Country thrown over their shoulders. Stiles nodded and led them down to the foyer, glancing one last time at the now familiar nooks of the house. Just as his hand touched the latch it was kicked open from the other side. Stiles jumped back and whipped a thin line of ash into a wide circle around his family.

“Hello, Don Stilinski,” purred the older man who had been at the Queen’s side. “How lovely to see you again.”

Stiles bared his teeth at the man, dressed in fine court apparel. “Get out of my house.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said with a grin.

“Peter, step aside, please.”

The Queen laid a strong hand on the man’s shoulder and bodily moved him aside. She swept into the house, looking quite out of place in her velvet gown. “Please forgive our intrusion, Don Stilinski, but I believe there was a misunderstanding earlier.”

“A misunderstanding?” Stiles bit out. “You call having beasts of terror and chaos a misunderstanding? You would rip me apart the first chance you could because of who I am!”

“Do you honestly believe that?” the Queen asked, stopping in front of the line of mountain ash. “That Sir Hale is as you say? A monster?”

Stiles looked past the Queen. Sirs Hale and Boyd stood just inside the door, faces twisted in pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” Stiles said, looking back at her.

“Stiles, please,” Derek said, taking a step forward, halting when Stiles reared back, hands raised.

“Stay away from me,” he said, voice catching on the second word, throat tight.

“Please, I didn’t-”

“You are what I was running from,” he said, cutting the knight off, still staring at the Queen.

The Queen shook out her skirt and turned in a slow circle, linking her hands behind her back. The two groups were silent, guards gathered outside the door, the small family tucked tightly together behind Stiles. “You seem to be under the impression that we intend to harm you. I can assure that we are not the violent creatures you believe we are.”

“We?” asked Stiles, eyes finally flitting to the others in the room. “All of you?”

The Queen nodded and Erica gasped.

“Sir Boyd?” she asked, eyes filling with tears.

He looked away, his face morphing quickly before receding back to smooth skin. Erica turned into John’s side and sobbed quietly, fingers knotted in his cloak.

“Why are you so insistent that we aim to harm?” the Queen asked, pacing along the front edge of the ash circle. “What has made you so distrustful of our differences?”

“You are more dangerous than the Mad King’s beasts,” Stiles said, hands clenching at his sides. “You walk and talk and lure people in! At least in the Hill Country you knew when they were coming for you. You wear human skin and lie about your purpose. Were you going to hunt me down, Sir Hale? Cut me open and present my blood to your Queen to feast on my magic? Tear me to shreds and watch me die on the floor of your palace?”

Sir Hale flinched with every word, chin ducking lower with each word. “I-we,” he stressed, “had no idea that’s what the Hill Country was like!”

The Queen interrupted. “I have known Gerard for years,” she said, turning to face him with hard eyes. “A declaration such as yours is dangerous, young man.”

“More for me than for you,” Stiles countered. “It’s my magic he wants, which is why he’s been hunting my family for years.”

“Years?” sneered the man the Queen called Peter. “Your records indicate that you’ve been _here_ for three years.”

“He’s been following my family since he learned my late wife had the spark,” John said, shifting Stiles to the side so he could face the queen. “His accusations are sound and justified, and if you won’t believe him, believe me. I’ve served the crown faithfully since I took my position. You’ve trusted me up to this point, Your Majesty.”

“You’re right, Constable,” the woman said. “I will hear what you have to say.” She motioned with a hand and the guards beyond the door backed away and closed it, leaving the small family alone with the royals. “Start at the beginning. Why did you move here?”

“That’s not the beginning of the story,” Stiles said, snorting. The Queen’s eyes flashed red and Stiles rolled his in response. “You can’t do anything to me in here, and I think we’re all on equal ground at the moment, so don’t try to intimidate me.”

Stiles saw Sirs Hale and Boyd stiffen from the corner of his eye.

“The beginning is when the Mad King took the throne,” John said diplomatically.

“But that was nearly twenty five years ago,” the Queen said, brows creasing in confusion.

“We’re aware,” Isaac muttered from the back of the group.

“What did he do then to make your lives so difficult?”

“He closed the borders to begin with,” Erica said softly. “He wouldn’t let anyone leave their towns. He has a special guard loyal only to him. People call them Hunters, because they keep rabid beasts and track down anyone with a relation to magic.”

“That can’t be possible,” the Queen said, face tightening. “We commonly have people come from the Hill Country.”

“How often do they stay?” Stiles asked. “Never for very long, right? We’re the ones to reside here the longest, aren’t we? At least since the Mad King took power?”

“I would have to check the records.”

“I don’t need to,” Stiles said. “The only ones to cross recently have been agents of the king or his Hunters, on holiday. It’s a reward, to get away from the horrors of the Hill Country, even for those taking part in the terror.”

“You are telling me that no one has emigrated from the Hill Country since Gerard ascended?”

“Perhaps a little later. A year into his reign, at most,” John said. “I’m sure it took time to assign his guard around the country. We are the first that I know to have successfully left.”

“And those unsuccessful?”

“Were either run down and killed on sight or brought back to the palace for Gerard’s court to enjoy,” Stiles said, crossing his arms and shivering. He saw Sir Hale inch forward from the corner of his eye, concern on the knight’s face.

“And you? Were you taken to the palace?” Peter asked with a grin.

“My son was made an example of,” John said harshly, eyes glinting dangerously. “And he has no obligation to relate the story if he wishes not to.”

“I was tortured because I tried to stop them from taking one of my friends,” Stiles cut in roughly. “His sister was magic, and they drowned her in front of the court. The stories were everywhere. She was nine,” he spat. “Theo was next, because if one sibling was magic, there was a high chance of the other having the gift as well. When they came for him I threw a brick at one of the Hunters. They weren’t too pleased, and brought me back to the castle.”

“You threw a brick at a trained warrior,” the Queen repeated, face twisted in conflict.

“I knocked him out. Theo ran, but at that point they were more concerned about me,” Stiles said, shrugging, muscles still tense as he watched the small congregation beyond the ash line. “And then they tortured me.”

“You look as unharmed as can be,” Peter muttered, and Sir Hale turned and snarled at him.

“Peter, not all torture is physical,” the Queen ground out between clenched teeth. “What kind of torture, Don Stilinski?”

Stiles shuffled, leaning back into John’s chest as he stared at the floor. “They crushed my hands,” he said. “One bone at a time, and they laughed when I screamed. I stopped screaming. They force fed me potions that set my insides on fire and made my muscles seize. They brought in feral beasts to stalk me through the court. I could go on,” he said. “I’m not sure how long they actually had me, but eventually Gerard made the court mage fix my hands. It had been so long that some of them didn’t set properly.” He held up his left hand and showed them the twisted first two fingers. “I was fifteen.”

“You were all children,” the Queen growled, eyes flashing.

“They take anyone,” Isaac said from behind Stiles, his voice quivering faintly. “The young, the old, and they kill whoever or whatever they want.”

“Whatever?”

“Pets, livestock, if they want it, or see that it brings you joy, they take it. Most often destroy it.”

“I cannot believe Gerard would do this,” the Queen muttered, pacing again. “He used to be so just and level headed. I must find out if this is as you say.”

“I do not believe he is lying,” Sir Hale said, hands clasped behind his back as he looked at a point somewhere between his mother and Stiles. “They sound as if they tell the truth.”

“Even our basest senses can be tricked, Derek,” she said.

“You can hear lies?” Stiles asked, still leaning against the quiet strength of his father. He noticed that Sir Hale had taken another small step forward.

“We can hear your heart stutter when you lie,” he corrected gently. “Not necessarily the lie itself, but the body refuting it.”

Stiles hummed, eyes narrowing slightly at the knight.

“Is there something you wish to ask?” the Queen asked, brows pulled tightly together.

“A great many things, actually, but the first is, what in the Goddess’ name were you thinking, Sir Hale? Were you ever going to tell me, or were you just going to court me until I found out on accident? Or, or,” he cried, stepping forward so his toes were just barely behind the line, eyes alight, “were you never going to tell me, and just hide such a massive part of yourself from me?”

“Stiles, it’s not like that,” Sir Hale said, coming up to stand across from him, separated only by the thin ash barrier.

“Not like that? How is it not like that?” Stiles asked angrily. “Were you lying? Am I worth so little to you that it didn’t matter if I knew your secret?”

“No! I wanted to believe you appreciated me for who I was before I revealed myself!”

“We have been dancing about for years!” Stiles yelled. “You’ve only recently taken an interest in me! Was a whim? A distraction?”

“You didn’t know who I was,” the knight ground out.

“You’re a beast,” Stiles snarled, eyes glowing faintly more amber.

“I’m a prince,” he sighed.

Stiles muscles went limp. It was as if the whole room tensed, frozen in confusion.

“You didn’t tell him you were the Prince?” the Queen asked, voice icy.

Sir Hale shrunk under her gaze. “No, mother,” he replied quietly.

She raised her eyes upwards and let out a harsh breath before turning to look at Stiles. “Don Stilinski, I must apologize on behalf of my family. You became privy to an incredible amount of important information quite suddenly. I was under the impression that you at least knew _who_ my son was, if not _what_ he was.

“You must understand, I am only trying to do right by my family, so you must forgive me if you do not like what I am about to tell you. Gerard and I were close in our youth. Our parents reigned in peace for many years, and though he was older than I, we had many things to talk about. At the time, he was only peripherally aware of our existence, thought us to be old legends and stories. Then he met Araya Calavera, a woman much younger than him that shared his passion for the mythology of our kind.” The Queen paused and ran a hand over her face, not looking at her family. “She was a child at the time, just nearing her age of majority. He was smitten.

“Being the daughter of a baron, and as young as she was, I tried to keep them apart. He was more than twenty years her senior, and while age differences are common, I found that to be much too long for comfort. But he neglected my warnings, and she turned his ear, whispering about the legends come to life and poisoning him against the innocent passion of his youth. It was at this point I met my husband, my Beta, Viktor, on a hunting trip. He was also a born were, and so we courted. I pulled away from Gerard and his new obsession, Araya. They were married soon after I withdrew to Beacon, and just before Viktor and I married, she fell ill and died. I cautiously invited him to our wedding, prepared to hide who we were if he decided to attend. He returned the invitation and declined, citing the death of his wife and his mourning as the reason; he sent a beautiful set of silver knives as a gift, and I took it at face value.

“It is only now that I reflect that he may indeed have had the juvenile thought that silver is poisonous to werewolves,” she said with a small, sad smile. “Over the first few years I extended invitations to him, but he insisted that he be with his family. I eventually neglected to contact him, as I assumed that Araya had permanently torn us apart. It was no great loss to me, I had Viktor, and soon, my children, and an entire country to care for. An old friend who drifted away didn’t trouble me as it probably should. If the news that you bring is true, that he ascended violently and has thrown the country into chaos, I cannot help but think some of the blame is mine.”

Stiles snorted, arms crossed as he leaned forward. The Queen looked up at him, eyes faintly red and lips pulled back in a silent snarl. “You’re thinking too highly of yourself. You even said that he had an interest in what he thought were myths, and then this woman, Araya, comes along and tells him it’s true and that they’re dangerous, or evil, or whatnot. If anyone is to blame, it’s her, for lying.”

“And if I had told him sooner, perhaps when we were children?” she challenged.

“Why didn’t he know in the first place? Why didn’t your parents tell his? Or him directly? Obviously they thought it was a bad idea, and look, they were right. If you had told him, perhaps he would have attacked by now, razed your country the way he did mine. What I don’t understand is why he is so against magic users? Why is your country so lenient?” he asked, waving a single hand. “My entire life I have had to hide my magic, but I’m here and no one seems to care, or notice at all.”

“Magic is prized here, and quite personal,” the Queen replied. “Those that have enough of a talent to showcase are in high demand. Did you not notice how quickly Master Geyer’s shop expanded when you began to create and formulate for him? Your work was simply a higher caliber, due to your magic imbued and in the presence of it. Deaton became my adviser because of his arcane knowledge.” She leaned forward, then clasped her hands behind her back again. “No one questions those with magic about it simply because it is impolite. It is a natural part of a person, as much as appearance or ability, and isn’t spoken of.

“As for why Gerard hates magic so much, I do not have a concrete answer, just speculation. Araya came from a family, the Calaveras, that my family trusted even less than the Argents. Her father tended to be very loud, very aggressive when he drank, and spewed vitriol that had many at court spurning the family. Hurtful words about the poor, lies about magic, rage with taxes and the royal family. Being a mere baron, he was soon banned from court, but Gerard always seemed more intrigued than insulted. When he began courting Araya, I can only assume that he took her father’s words to heart in an effort to convince her that he was a worthy choice. I believe that her death cemented those ideas in his mind and he has been attempting to fulfill a strange sort of duty to her ever since.”

“That’s a lot of conjecture,” John said heavily from behind Stiles. “Though it does make sense. I would still like to hear from your son why he didn’t tell Stiles sooner. About any of it.”

Sir Hale looked up at the constable and broadened his shoulders. “Sir, I did it with every intention of telling him before it went further. I wanted him to know that I cared for him despite my station, despite my physiology, despite his magic. Once he was presented to my mother, and we were officially courting, I had plans to reveal myself, entirely. I would strip myself down to my soul for your son.”

“Then perhaps you should tell him that,” John said dryly, motioning to his stunned progeny. “Though I do believe he was just intending to be courted, and not propositioned.”

“Dad,” Stiles choked, face going red. “That was uncalled for.”

“I’ll say what’s uncalled for, and it’s that boy lying to you,” John said, pointing directly at Sir Hale.

Peter snickered behind his sister, who looked at him pointedly.

“I do believe that perhaps that is a conversation for our children to have in private,” the Queen said, smoothing down the front of her gown again. “Of course, my guards and I will withdraw, though I leave those that must have matters to discuss,” she looked directly at Sirs Hale and Boyd, who shifted uncomfortably before she turned back to John. “I humbly invite you and your family to attend a private dinner at the palace tomorrow, if it is agreeable to you.”

“I’ll send word with your knights depending on how the evening goes,” John said, hand tucked into his belt. “You’ll forgive me if this takes some time to wrap up.”

“Of course,” the Queen conceded. “Peter,” she jerked her head towards the door, “we’re leaving. You are not to interfere.”

“You ruin all of my fun, sister dear,” Peter said, eyes rolled towards the ceiling before turning to open the door. “Do try not to scare the poor thing away again, Derek,” he sneered.

Sir Hale pulled his lips back at his uncle before turning cautious eyes to Stiles.

John clapped Stiles on the shoulder, startling him. “Alright, kid, let me out. I highly doubt that these two are going to be causing any trouble. And you can take care of yourself if they do, right?” John looked up at the two knights, eyes hard and mouth a thin line.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, dragging his eyes back to Sir Hale. “I can.”

Stiles swept his hand, swirling the ash from the floor, and with a clench of his hand it deposited perfectly into a bowl near the door. John headed for the stairs, leaving his children with the other men. Isaac backed slowly into the dining room, leaving the two couples alone. Sir Boyd spoke first.

“Erica,” he began, hands spread in supplication, eyes bright with worry.

“We’ll go to the parlor,” she announced, spinning, hair floating up as she strode across the entry to the darkly stained wooden door and yanked it open. Sir Boyd disappeared first, and she followed, closing the door with a sharp snap behind them.

Stiles and Derek stared at each other, Stiles heart beating thunderously in his chest, Derek’s face drawn and pale. Eventually Stiles jerked his head towards the back of the house, and Sir Hale preceded him through the kitchen and out to the garden. In a minor fit of spite, Stiles jerked a hand up, and a shimmering dome encased the garden. Sir Hale jerked, and Stiles snorted.

“It’s for privacy, nothing more.”

“Stiles, I’m sorry,” Sir Hale said, as if the breath was knocked out of him.

“What are apologies going to do for me, Derek?” Stiles asked, turning, arms thrown out. “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me that you’re a werewolf, and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me that you were a prince!”

Derek huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “I honestly wasn’t positive you didn’t know I was a prince,” he confessed. “We don’t hide it, we never have, and we spend so much time around the people that it is a common occurrence to see us in the marketplace or wandering the city. I had assumed someone had told you, and with your argument against courting due to our stations I thought you had an idea.”

“You just mingle with the people, no guards or anything? What kind of idiocy is that?”

“I’m a werewolf, Stiles,” Derek replied. “If I could not fend off an attack while also being part of the Queen’s Guard, I would be doing a disservice to myself and my Queen.”

“You make a fair point,” he said as he began to pace. “And I understand that you didn’t think it was a big deal, us being so far separated in class-”

“Stiles, do you not realize what position you hold in society here?” Derek interrupted him, a hand out to halt his movement.

“What? I’m a shopkeeper. An apprentice, actually.”

“No, with your magical abilities, you’re a Spark. The way that you manipulate magic, the forces within your control, you may not have a title, but your status is higher than most at court,” Derek explained slowly. “No one would be ashamed to have you.”

“Except you, apparently,” Stiles muttered.

“I can hear you,” Derek sighed, taking a small step forward. “I can hear your heart, your whispered words. And if it would help you accept my apologies, I would share more of my secrets with you.”

“I don’t want your secrets as part of a bargain,” he said. “I want your secrets because you trust me to keep them.”

“I do,” Derek said simply.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and continued to pace. “Do you know why I’m so hurt, Derek? It’s not about you being royalty, though that’s a kick in the teeth, honestly. It’s about your furry little problem. The fear that my family lived through, the reign of Gerard and his kept beasts, feral, slavish creatures for the sole purpose of hunting those like me, the constant danger, and you suddenly are exactly what I’ve been running from.

“I was living a good life, three years since I’ve seen the beasts, though I have heard the howls in the night, and in an instant it all comes back, in the skin of the man that I was certain I loved.”

Sir Hale drew a sharp breath and strode forward. Stiles reeled back and the knight stopped, collapsing to one knee in the dirt of the garden.

“Stiles,” he breathed, eyes shining with tears. “Please, I will do anything in my power to assuage your fear. It was never my intention to frighten you.”

“But you did,” Stiles said, drifting forward to stop just out of reach. “You did, and I don’t know where to go from here.”

Derek looked up at the other man, a thought on the tip of his tongue. “You were not always afraid of me, of the beast I am.”

Stiles cocked his head to one side. “I don’t understand.”

“Please, just for a moment, I need you close,” Derek begged, hands splayed low to his sides. Stiles stayed frozen for a long moment before he cautiously stepped forward, so Derek’s face was pressed to his belly. The knight let out a high, quiet whine before his hands spread over the bare skin of Stiles’ lower back.

Stiles sank into the embrace, shivering at the feel of rough fingers on his naked skin. His fingers snaked into Derek’s hair of their own accord, and the man huffed hotly against his stomach before pulling back. He closed his eyes, and Stiles watched, rapt, as the man in front of him morphed from man to beast. In front of him was the familiar black wolf that he had met many times in the very garden they were standing in. Stiles still had his hands twisted in the fur at the back of the wolf’s neck.

He stepped back, and the wolf whined again, taking a single step towards him before laying down, tail tucked beneath him and ears flat to the back of his head. Stiles shook his head and made his way to a marble bench near to the door. He clasped his hands tightly as he looked at the forlorn wolf, a presence that he had come to enjoy on the infrequent occasions the creature had showed up in his garden. Stiles was torn, indeed, he was not and never had been afraid of the wolf, but the partial shift, the twisted human features still made his stomach clench and his chest tight. He thought back to when he had seen Derek shift in the throne room; there was no hint of bloodlust in his eyes, no sign of madness or rage, just the same soft eyes he always had when looking at Stiles. And Sir Boyd’s face, in their foyer was filled only with regret and sadness.

Stiles cleared his throat and the wolf looked up at him, not lifting his head from his paws. “Come here, Derek,” Stiles said, voice soft and questioning.

The wolf stood and slunk over, hunched as he never had before, and pressed his nose to Stiles’ knee. Stiles reached down to cup his face in his hands and press his forehead to the wolf’s.

“I’m sorry, Derek. I accept your apology, please change back,” he whispered.

In an instant Derek was crouched between his legs, one hand cupping Stiles’ cheek in return as the other rested warmly on Stiles’ muscled thigh. Their foreheads were still pressed together, and Stiles was breathing heavily into Derek’s space. They simply stared at each other for a long moment.

“I couldn’t make a full shift until I met you,” Derek admitted quietly. “And then it was as if a new world was open to me.”

Stiles flushed. “I had never given thought to a man before seeing you.”

“Then I can only thank the Goddess that your eyes were turned to me,” Derek murmured, leaning forward hesitantly.

“They can never leave you for long. It is as if I am drawn to you,” Stiles replied, a faint frown pulling his lips down. “It concerns me. I have never felt so strongly before.”

Derek pressed his nose to Stiles’ cheek. “Are you familiar with the Nemeton?”

“The what?” Stiles asked, leaning into Derek’s face.

“Nemeton. The tree stump in the fenced garden. I scented you there, and there are always new flowers left.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it had a name.”

“It’s a beacon for magical beings. All of those who are not fully human tend to visit. It is possible that the magic of the Nemeton has enhanced what we feel for each other,” Derek offered, pulling back slightly to look Stiles in the eye again.

“You believe your feelings are strong enough to be influenced by a magic tree?” Stiles questioned, one eyebrow rising in confusion.

Derek laughed softly. “It’s not just any tree. And they’re not just any feelings. I am confident when I say that you’re it for me, Stiles.”

“We’ve been courting for perhaps a day, don’t you think you’re rushing things?” Stiles asked, gently scratching his fingers through the scruff on Derek’s cheeks.

He shook his head gently, not dislodging Stiles’ fingers. “Sometimes wolves just know,” he said with a shrug. “You have made me a better man in the time I’ve known you; you’re caring, loyal, and strong, all things wolves look for when choosing a mate.”

“So, I’m your mate, then?” Stiles asked, looking up at the older man from under his lashes. Derek’s eyes darkened at the word, but he still shook his head again.

“Technically, in werewolf lore mates are revered and mystically bonded. I am positive that you are mine, but at this time either of us could reject a bond with minimal fallout,” he said. “So if you accepted, we could be mated, but to be true Mates we would have a spiritual connection that hasn’t so far formed.”

Stiles hummed, eyes distant as he thought about what Derek had said. “Are mates common?”

“Taking a mate for life is common, yes. The soulbound mating is much more rare. It hasn’t happened in the last century, so people are beginning to believe that it was indeed a myth. I,” he flushed, “have always hoped that it was true. I wished for a partner that was created for me, and I for them. I believe I have found that in you.”

“I believe I told you once that you’ve ruined me for any other man,” Stiles said with a smile.

Derek’s answering smile was wide and happy, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he leaned forward. Stiles met him halfway, their lips hardly meeting as they kissed due to the breadth of their smiles. Their teeth clicked and it was more of a press of lips than an actual kiss, and they ended it laughing. Derek tightened his grip on Stiles’ thigh as he levered himself onto the bench next to the younger man. They sat in silence for a long time, their hands entwined. Derek listened to Stiles’ heart slow into it’s usual steady rhythm and Stiles tried to match his breathing to the knight’s as he pressed his ear to the plate armor.

Eventually Stiles tilted his head up to rest his chin on Derek’s pauldron. “Where do we go from here?”

Derek tightened his grip on Stiles’ fingers. “I would like to properly introduce you to my family,” he said softly, “my sisters and my father. If you wish, you have access to our library, to study our history and legends. I would like to formally announce that we are courting, as long as you don’t with to withdraw.”

“I would love to meet your family, and get to see your library. I have no intentions of pulling away, as long as you don’t keep anymore important information from me. Of course, we have to work to rebuild our trust, but I think we’re off to a pretty good start.”

Derek leaned over to press his nose to the skin below Stiles’ ear. “I would honestly do anything to keep you in my life. If it takes work, I will work.”

“You have to stop being so sweet, or you really will have ruined me for anyone else,” Stiles said with a chuckle. Derek growled lowly in response, chest rumbling within his armor.

“Good.”


	10. Making the Best of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has taken to avoiding Stiles, who finds the whole situation ridiculous. In return, Stiles stretches his magical talents and seeks help from some of Derek's female relatives.

“Hello, Stiles,” came a smooth, feminine voice.

Stiles jerked upright, twisting in his chair to look behind him, where Derek’s oldest sister, Laura, stood. He shuffled to his feet, collecting his armful of books before giving a shallow bow to the crown princess.

“Your Highness,” he said, struggling to keep the books steady in his arms.

Laura laughed and stepped forward, taking them herself and putting them back onto the chair he had vacated. “You’re too serious, Don Stilinski,” she teased, grabbing one of his hands and threading it through her arm. “Come, I have something to show you.”

“To show me? Prince Derek has already spoiled me with this library,” he said, gesturing to the ornately paneled walls and ten foot shelves. There were dozens of windows, each a thin sheet of marble, not glass, that cast a warm amber glow across the cavernous room.

“My brother may want to woo you, and he’s doing alright, but I’ve got a surprise for you.” Laura stalked off, dragging Stiles along behind her. They headed up a small staircase, through an unused salon, and into a large empty suite, with only built in shelves and a hand carved armoire against the back wall.

“You know, Your Highness, this doesn’t seem like such a good idea,” Stiles said, beginning to tug at his hand still clutched in Laura’s powerful grip. “Propriety, and all.”

“You think I’ve got ill intentions towards you?” she asked, pulling him up short.

“What am I supposed to think?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I think,” she said, propping her hands on her hips, “that you think too much. I think you’re good for Derek, and that you’ve had a tough life. You deserve good things. Which is what I’m trying to show you.” She waved her hands exasperatedly and stomped over to the armoire. “Now come on.” She threw open the door to the armoire and reached down to fiddle with something, and the back of the closet creaked open. “Ah, there it is.”

“What?” Stiles asked.

“If you’re that curious you’d better hurry up,” Laura’s voice carried from the secret compartment.

Stiles rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a long moment, before letting out a long sigh and crawling into the wardrobe. The room beyond was small, with a full wall of windows leading out to a large balcony. The room was covered in a fine layer of dust, with a large copper tub in one corner and an old live edge wooden work table taking up the entirety of the shortest wall. Laura was standing by the windows with a grin on her face.

“Come here, human,” she said.

“Just because you’re a big scary werewolf doesn’t mean you can order me around,” he grumbled, going to her anyway.

She grinned, teeth bright and sharp in the light streaming in from the window. “I am your princess, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep reminding me,” Stiles grunted. “You’ve reminded me every time I’ve visited for the last month.”

“And yet you keep coming back,” she teased, twisting a small handle on one of the windows. It opened, showing that the window was actually a door. “I promise this is good.”

Stiles stepped out onto the large terrace, filled with broken pots and furniture, a small copper spout built into the stone. Laura put a finger to her lips, even with the gentle wind buffeting the open area. She hiked her dress up to her knees and crouched, making her way to the marble railing. Stiles followed, keeping his head below the top of the railing.

“What are we doing?” he hissed.

Laura gently grabbed his chin and pointed his face down towards the ground. The Queen’s Guard were visible farther down the lawn, half naked and practicing sparring, throwing each other in the dirt and rolling around in a group.

“That’s why we’re here,” she said, pointing as a now familiar figure stood over a pair on the ground. Stiles flushed, and Laura wrinkled her nose. “I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking about my brother.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” he lied, eyes glued to Derek’s bare torso.

“Uh huh, sure,” Laura said. She turned so her back was facing the lawn and slid down to sit on the cool stone, legs stretched out in front of her, bare from the calf down.

“So, you brought me up here so I could ogle your brother?” Stiles asked, moving to sit next to her. “That’s kind of weird.”

Laura sighed and tucked her hands under her thighs. “I’m not going to lie to you, Stiles, when I first heard about you from Derek I was skeptical.” She ignored his gasp of indignation and continued. “I heard that you were some merchant’s apprentice, from a foreign country, and that you had no common decency when it came to conversation.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Stiles complained.

“You’re right,” she said, surprising him. “You’re so much more than that. You make my brother happy. If that was the only thing you did, I’d be alright. But you came here protecting your family, you’ve built a name for yourself among the people, you’ve treated everyone, even us weres, with kindness and respect, despite your awful history with our kind. And,” she paused, “you’re a Spark.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” Stiles said, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “I mean, I’ve got magic, big deal.”

“Sparks are incredibly, increasingly rare,” Laura said. “They’ve always emerged just before times change. They’ve led rebellions, rebuilt kingdoms, destroyed nations. They’re dangerously powerful and that has always made people wary of them, but good has always come of their appearances, in the end.”

“You think that something is going to happen?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just,” she pulled her hands out from underneath her legs and tangled her fingers together. “I’m just warning you. Not everyone knows you’re a Spark, and not everyone will like it, to start. They’ll get used to it, and I can’t imagine you warmongering or tearing apart our hard earned peace.”

“I would never dream of it,” Stiles said. “This place has been my home for almost four years. I would never give up the freedoms I have here.”

“Practicing magic?”

“Being able to walk outside after nightfall. Being able to afford food for my family. Wearing clothes that aren’t filled with holes and dirt-stained. Those are all freedoms we didn’t have in the Hill Country,” he said with a shrug. “It seems so simple, but we never thought we’d have this. And now...” he trailed off, twisting his neck to look back at the knights again. “Now I have Derek.”

“Yeah, you do,” Laura said, reaching over to pat him on the knee. “He’s utterly in love with you. Has been for months.”

“He hasn’t told me that,” Stiles said, turning back to face her. Laura averted her eyes and swallowed, shuffling her legs underneath her as she moved to stand. “Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist before she could get too far. “Do you mean it?”

“What, that my brother loves you? Of course.”

Stiles sighed and leaned his head back against the railing, letting go of her wrist.

“Uh oh. What’s going on?” she asked, shifting to sit cross legged in front of him, this time pulling her skirts down to drape over her knees.

“Nothing,” Stiles replied, watching the reflection of the clouds in the glass across from him.

“Don’t give me that. I may not know you very well, but you don’t hide your stress well.”

“That’s because I’m not trying right now,” Stiles countered. “I’m just afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“So many things,” he replied. “Number one being that I’m not Derek’s real mate. He said something about a soul bond, and that hasn’t happened yet. What if he’s only convinced himself that I’m it, because I’m shiny and new and exciting? What if he never says that he loves me? What if he says it and lies? What if he never actually wants me?”

“Whoa, slow down, Sparky,” Laura said, reaching forward and pulling his hands away from his face. “That’s a lot of negativity all at once.”

Stiles shook his head, dislodging the now familiar crown of flowers. “It’s not all at once, it’s been building since his confession.” He took off the wreath and turned it slowly over in his hands.

“Why do you wear those?” Laura asked after a few minutes.

Stiles looked down at the crown, the flowers still in perfect bloom due to his magic. “They help me feel close to the earth,” he said at last. “And every flower means something different. I’m conveying a message every time I put one on. It’s mostly personal, since the majority of people don’t know the language of flowers well.”

“What are these?”

“Ivy, with pink camellia and cyclamen,” he said. “All signs of my inner turmoil.”

Laura hummed softly under her breath. “And why do you think my brother’s wrong about you?”

“I don’t know. It feels like nothing’s changed since I found out about everything.”

“You think it should?”

“I think we shouldn’t pretend that everything is normal, because it’s not,” Stiles said. “I haven’t seen any indication of werewolf-iness since he showed me, he actually touches me less than he did before if that’s even possible, and I feel like he’d rather I sit in the library than spend time with him.”

“Alright, that’s pretty bad,” Laura conceded. “Please just keep in mind that my brother is an idiot.”

“That’s not even everything, though,” Stiles sighed. “He’s been so closed off, so distant, but he won’t tell me what the problem is. Therefore, I think I’m the problem and that he regrets having anything to do with me.”

“I can guarantee you that he does not regret anything about you,” Laura said. “If you could hear or smell like I can, you’d know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s disgusting, actually. Whenever you guys see each other your heart beats go haywire, but they always end up in sync. You give off the scent of arousal anytime my brother is within arm’s length, and he always reacts to it. It’s gross.”

“Then why doesn’t he act on it?” Stiles huffed. “He has to know that I’ve wanted him literally since the first time I saw him, right?”

“People always like Derek for his looks,” she deflected.

“I swear to the Goddess that if he thinks I only like him for his body,” Stiles growled, moving to stand. It was Laura’s turn to grab him, by the elbow this time, and drag him back down to the ground.

“Derek hasn’t had an easy time of it, either,” Laura said. “He was courting this woman for a while, and she ended up getting close to the family only to try and kill us all. He has some trust issues.”

“He has trust issues and then lied to me for months?”

“Please, Stiles, just listen. She tried to convince him that she was his mate, that they would be bound as soon as they consummated the bond. She wanted a massive ceremony, for the whole family to be there, for no expense to be spared. Her father provided half of the sum, and a respectable dowry, so of course they were to go through with it. However, the night before the ceremony Derek walked in on her ranting to her maid about us, about how we were beasts, creatures unworthy of life, and the like. He immediately tried to take her to the Queen, but she slipped away and set fire to the family wing.

“Thankfully no one was killed, but there were some injuries, including to our Uncle Peter. He’s never truly forgiven Derek for that, though the rest of us have. I’m not trying to make excuses for my brother, but he has reason to be wary, especially of humans. Please just try to give him some time.”

“Laura,” Stiles said, leaning forward. “Derek has come to mean as much to me as my own family. I would never hurt him. I would take all of his pain and hunt down his enemies. He is a bright point in my life that I won’t surrender for anything. He could never love me and I would stay by his side. I will love and protect him from afar, if necessary, though I pray to the Goddess that he could love me, too. He is too important to lose.”

Laura grabbed his wrist and dragged him forwards, wrapping her arms around her shoulders as she pressed her cheek to his temple. “You said you wouldn’t destroy our peace, but I have a feeling you might just disrupt it a little,” she said, pulling back with a loud sniffle and wiping at her cheeks with her sleeves. “Everything’s going to be okay, just you see.”

She picked up his slightly rumpled crown and set it back on his head, where the wilting petals sprang back to the semblance of life. She rubbed a hand down his face, ignoring his sputtering, and went back inside the castle, leaving Stiles to stare down at the field of knights alone.

\---

“Stiles, it’s good to see you!” Melissa said as he entered her workspace, an enclosed ward meant for healing. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to help,” he said. “I wanted to know if there was anyone around town who needed magical services that they maybe can’t afford. I figured you’d know someone, at least.”

She put down the instrument in her hands and turned to fully face him, hand on her hips. “Of course I do, but what is this about?”

“Master Geyer hired a new shop assistant to run to the place, but I’m still contracted to make products. I’ve got more free time than I know what to do with, right now.”

“Why aren’t you spending it with the Prince?” she asked, eyes shining with mirth.

Stiles gave a halfhearted smile. “He’s quite busy at the moment, with the Queen’s Guard and his state duties. I’m just looking to fill some time, and I haven’t been able to truly stretch my magic in so long.”

“Well, alright,” she said, dusting her hands on her apron before picking up a scrap piece of paper and a quill. “I’ve got a couple people in mind, though I’m not sure what sort of help they need.” She handed him the paper with three names on it before pulling him into a hug.

Stiles returned it with vigor, pressing his nose into her shoulder. “Dad did alright, finding you,” he muttered.

Melissa laughed. “I found him, actually,” she said, pulling back. “Remind me to tell you the story sometime.”

He left the castle and headed home, stopping to chat with people he knew and charming flowers from his wreath for people he didn’t. Once home, he packed a small leather bag with a variety of tools and plants that might help him help others. Stiles stopped in the garden on his way out and wove himself a new crown, since he had given away most of his flowers already. The bright yellow gold of calliopsis and mullein stood starkly against his dark hair, the delicate flowers light on his head.

The first name on the list is the Romero family, and after asking around he finds the house, a small two story estate with a fenced in yard, which was full of dead garden boxes. He pushed open the gate and approached the door, hearing clattering and voices on the other side. Stiles knocked, listening to the house fall silent.

A young girl opened the door, and Stiles frowned. “Do I know you?” he asked.

She scowled up at him. “Yeah, you gave me a flower a few years ago,” she said. “In an alley, where I was talking to someone. What do you want?”

“I’d like to speak with the steward, or whoever is in charge,” he said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Melissa McCall sent me.”

The girl frowned, then sighed, opening the door for him and yelling into the house. “Valerie, the door!”

From deeper inside the house Stiles heard a thump and then watched another woman come down the stairs in front of him. She too looked familiar, and Stiles grinned. “Congratulations on your win at the festival,” he said to Valerie Clark, who had won the wrestling tournament.

She smiled. “Thank you, Don Stilinski. May I ask what brought you here?” Her dark hair was pulled into a functional bun, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on her brow. She was dressed simply, in a tunic and breaches with a cord belt tied around her waist.

“I came to see if you needed any magical assistance,” he said slowly. “Melissa mentioned that you may have a need for it.”

“Magic?” she asked, frowning. “Like big magic?”

“I don’t actually know what you consider big,” he confessed. “I make potions and creams all the time, but I have more skill than that. What did you need?”

“Come with me,” she said slowly. “Hayden, grab that flower.”

Hayden huffed, but stomped up the stairs and Valerie led Stiles to a parlor off of the small entrance hall. It was set up like a small home medical space, with a chaise in the center. Valerie picked up a leather journal from one of the tables and handed it to him.

“I believe that my sister has been cursed,” she said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Cursed. She bleeds this silver substance, she is slowly losing weight, no matter what I feed her, she is irritable and angry at the drop of a hat. I don’t know what’s wrong and none of the healers can help her.”

Stiles took the journal and began to flip through it, studying the hand drawn diagrams and charts, the detailed descriptions of what Hayden was experiencing. The more he read the more concerned he was, and he lifted his head to watch Hayden walk back into the room, a slightly wilted starflower in her hands.

“You gave this to me a while back,” she said.

“Almost four years ago,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“How is it still alive?” Hayden asked.

“Magic. It’s tied to me. I exert no power in keeping it alive, It’s more passive, since my magic grew it, charmed it, gifted it, it will live as long as I’m alive. That it’s wilting is strange, though,” he said, reaching forward to scoop it out of her hands.

As soon as it was free of her grasp it bloomed again, bright and vibrant, petals unfurled. Stiles frowned and placed it back in her hands. It began to slowly brown at the edges, curling in and losing it’s color as they watched. Stiles immediately picked it back up and set it on the nearest table, watching as it came back to life again.

“Have a seat, Hayden,” he said, setting his bag down and rifling through it. “I’m going to run some quick tests.” He pulled out his own journal and flipped through it before settling on a blank page. A stick of charcoal followed, and then a jar of dark ash.

“What’s that?” Valerie asked, pointing at the jar.

“Mountain ash,” Stiles replied. “It’s a precautionary measure.” He uncorked the bottle and poured a small pile into the palm of his hand. “It’s just for protection, since magic can be a little volatile sometimes.” He blew the ash into the air and it settled in a perfect circle around Hayden and the chaise.

She shifted with a frown as the ash settled. “What was that?”

“You could feel the effect?” he asked, making a note in his book. “What did it feel like?”

“Liquid, but like a curtain being pulled over me,” Hayden said, wrapping her arms around herself. “But I’m completely dry and now I just feel sort of closed off.”

“Do me a favor, Hayden,” Stiles said, “and try to walk past the ash line.”

She stood and took two steps forward before freezing in place. “I can’t,” she said, biting her lip. “Why can’t I move?”

“I think your sister might be correct in the theory that you’ve got some sort of possession happening.”

“Possession? How?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not too familiar with possession, but I’ll see what I can do.”

He began by stepping through the ash barrier and offering Hayden his hand. She took it, and Stiles let his magic wash over her. In a snap something gripped his magic and pulled. Stiles growled and pulled back, wrapping his consciousness around the gray haze intruding Hayden’s body. He was vaguely aware of something silver leaking from Hayden’s eyes, but he pushed forward, forcing the darkness away from the girl.

What seemed like hours later Hayden collapsed back onto the chaise, gasping. Stiles jerked back, knees wobbling as he reached out to steady himself on one of the nearby tables. Valerie reached out and wrapped a strong hand around his elbow before leading him to a chair at the edge of the room. She kept staring at her sister, eyes bright as she watched her breathe heavily, still weak limbed and reclining.

“Is she alright?” Valerie asked.

“She will be,” Stiles replied, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I would give her some time to recuperate before trying to get too much out of her.”

“What was wrong with her?”

Stiles took a moment to roll thoughts around before replying. He took a deep breath. “It seems that someone was trying to use her for some sort of experiment, magically,” he finally confessed.

“Magic did this to her?”

“Not just magic,” Stiles said, “some sort of medical procedure in addition. When my magic was in her physical form it found a series of small incisions along her spine. I can’t tell you anything else, just that I think it’s something to look into.”

“Do you know anything about who might have done this?”

“To be honest, I didn’t know much about the practice of magic before I got here, and even then, it’s incredibly limited. I’m sorry I don’t have any more information for you.”

Valerie gripped his shoulder and squeezed. “I can’t thank you enough for the help you’ve already given. Thank you so much for helping Hayden.”

Stiles gave her a tired smile. “If I can ever help, just let me know. It’s nice getting to use my magic for things other than plants. I like helping people.”

“It shows. Your dedication to the populous is incredible.”

Stiles laughed a little and clapped his hands to his knees, then stood, dislodging Valerie’s hand. “Just make sure she gets plenty of fluids and protein for the next few days,” he said as he waved a hand, summoning the mountain ash back into the jar. “She should be fine, just tired for a while. Having dark magic removed is painful and taxing.”

“I will, thank you so much, Don Stilinski,” Valerie said, unfurling the blanket draped over the chaise across Hayden’s still form. “I’ll see you out.” She walked him to the gate and gripped his hand tightly, eyes boring into his. “I will never forget what you’ve done for us. If there’s anything I can do for you going forward, say the word.”

“I just may take you up on that offer someday,” Stiles said. “Tell Hayden that I wish her well and to take it easy for a few days.”

“I will.”

Stiles left the small estate and trudged home, shoulders slouched in exhaustion as his feet dragged lightly across the ground. A small tug at his brain made him turn, finding the gate to the Nemeton’s courtyard an arm’s length away. He pushed the gate open and gently latched it behind him, then approached the smooth stump. It was warm to the touch and he dropped his bag at it’s roots before climbing atop it and letting out a massive sigh.

He laid in silence for a long time; the sky began to darken and the sounds of nightfall surrounded him, crickets chirping in the long grass, the skittering of small creatures the underbrush, the soft beat of an owl’s wings overhead. The stump grew warmer to counteract the chill in the air as he shivered.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he murmured to the Nemeton, splaying his fingers across the weathered wood. “I encountered strange magic today.” The wood under his hand seemed to flex, and Stiles felt his magic react, the now familiar push and pull of sharing his magic with the stump spreading from his fingertips through his body.

Images slipped through his mind in a flash, just frames of thought that were gone in an instant. A gnarled hand, red eyes, flame, a purple flower, accompanied by a rushing in his ears and a pounding in his head. Stiles wrenched his hand away from the wood and clutched at his head. The sensations stopped as quickly as they came, leaving only the memory of pain in it’s wake.

“What in the Goddess’ name?” Stiles hissed, pounding a fist onto the wood. It seemed to shiver and a feeling of calm washed over him. “Come on, that isn’t fair,” Stiles whined, leaning back onto his elbows again, legs dangling off the side of the stump. He pulled one of the calliopsis blossoms from his crown, wished for understanding, and left it at the center of the Nemeton before heaving himself to his feet.

\---

As the days went on, Stiles spent less time at the palace as Derek spent more time with the Queen’s Guard. He instead used the daylight hours to get to know the people of Beacon, helping them with their problems, magical and mundane alike. At night he worked magic in the garden, creating things for Master Geyer’s shop and cultivating the rare plants he harvested from Lady Lydia’s collection. Soon, anywhere he went he was known, and there were always friendly smiles and small tokens waiting for him.

He accepted them with grace, as they were usually food, or small notes, or even soil samples from some merchants. Erica stopped him one day in the hall outside their rooms.

“What’s going on, Stiles?” she asked, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from passing her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.

“You’ve got dark circles under your eyes, you haven’t really been eating, and you barely sleep. You’re always in your garden. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Stiles laughed, a brittle, bitter sound. “The problem is that the man I’m ‘courting’ sees more of everyone else than he does me,” he said.

“Have you tried going to see him? I thought you had an open invitation to the palace?” she asked.

“The open invitation only seems to extend to the library, and not his time,” Stiles said, gently taking her hand and removing from his chest. He held it a moment, staring down at the rough callouses that had developed over the years. “I’m proud of you. You know that, right?”

Erica frowned, eyes narrowed. “Thank you, but what brought that on?”

He raised her hand in his, then lowered them to swing gently between their bodies. “Just this. You’ve worked so hard, you and Isaac both. I’m proud of you,” he shrugged.

“We’re proud of you, too, you know,” she said. “You got us here.”

Stiles offered her a small smile, and she beamed in response. He slowly pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist, clutching her so tightly that her feet left the floor. Erica responded in kind, her arms around his shoulders as she pressed her cheek to his head.

“It’s going to be alright. You’ll see.”

Stiles set her down and loosened his grip, but still kept her pulled against him. She had no problem with it and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I don’t know if it will be,” he quietly confessed. “Because I think I love him.”

Erica pulled back, hands wrapped tightly around his biceps. “What? Have you told him?”

“Of course not, I’ve barely seen him in weeks. I thought things would get better once there were no secrets between us, but I guess me finding out about his furry little problem was more of an issue than I originally thought.”

“Okay, but Sir Hale is an idiot,” Erica said with a snort. “I can say that, because I see him all the time. He’s been really distracted lately, and he’s always looking off into the distance, sometimes at the palace, mostly off towards town, recently. He also does not look good, by the way.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t look good?”

“Well, he always looks good, because he’s Sir Hale, but there’s just something off, like he’s perpetually tired, and his reaction times are slower than usual.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because he’s tired?” Stiles asked, a wry smile stretching his lips.

“I’m sure. You should go back to the palace tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he sighed, casually ruffling her hair as they pulled away from each other. “I’ll go. For you. And to prove that I’m not the reason he looks like shit.”

“He never looks like shit, and you know it.”

“And I’ll always be mad about it,” Stiles said with a haughty sniff before retiring to him room.

The next day dawned bright and clear, the stark light of the sun filtering through Stiles’ window and across his bed. He groaned and stretched, head rolling before his eye caught the glint of something on his desk. It was the pure glass orb that Sir Hale had given him, encasing the singular blossom of arbutus. He rolled out of bed and picked it up, weighing it in his palm.

A quick decision later he dressed, simple brown trousers and a cream linen shirt, and quickly shoved his feet into his boots. He thew on a wool cloak as he headed into the garden and wove a simple crown of jewelweed and mallow, the two purples blending beautifully. He made his way up to the palace, now well enough known by the guards to be admitted with no difficulty.

He made his way back to the rooms that Laura had dragged him through, pausing in the doorway. The salon had been cleaned, the dust covers removed from the furniture. As he moved into the suite, he was surprised to find the windows open and a small gathering of people. They all turned as he entered, and Stiles was, once again, face to face with the Queen.

“Don Stilinski,” she said, smiling. “What a surprise. You haven’t been by in so long, I began to worry that something had happened.”

He bowed once, deeply, and cleared his throat. “I actually came today to try and do something to surprise your son,” he said.

“Derek?” she questioned. “Whatever is going on?”

“I’m not quite sure, Your Majesty,” he said. “But things are a little tense right now.”

She glanced at the two other people in the room, who bowed quickly and left. The Queen waved him over to the velvet upholstered sofa against one wall. “You see, Stiles, I think there is a problem. My son doesn’t act like anyone with a mate that I’ve ever met. I am worried about him.”

“He’s been avoiding me,” Stiles said in a rush, biting his lip when the words spilled out.

“Avoiding you?”

“Yes. I haven’t been to the palace for a while because I stopped seeing him while I was here. He was always busy, so I didn’t want to disturb him, but I’m realizing that he can’t always be this busy.”

“Yes, he does seem to be incredibly focused on his duties when you are around,” the Queen mused. She smoothed out her skirts and leaned back into the couch, one arm coming up to drape over the back of it. “How familiar are you with the concept of mates, Don Stilinski?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Stiles said honestly. “I haven’t heard much about them, just that it’s supposed to be some mystical love match.”

“And you feel that the interactions with my son don’t match that description?”

“Well, I did, until he told me about it. Ever since I found out about werewolves and mates he’s been closed off and distant.”

The Queen hummed under her breath and turned her head towards the window. “My son has not had the best experience with mates, which is both unfortunate and damaging. In short, he thought he had a mate once before, but he was young, and she was cunning. She tried to hurt our family, and Derek has never fully recovered from that experience. He has, however, grown in the time that you have spent together, and I fully believe that you are his mate.”

“But how are we supposed to work together if he never wants to see me?”

“Derek always wants to see you,” she laughed, “he just doesn’t let himself have good things. Now it is my turn to ask a question. What brought you here today?”

“I wanted to surprise him,” Stiles said slowly. “I wanted to take steps to show him that I want to be here, and that I want to be his mate.”

“Well, that is exactly what I wanted to hear,” she said, standing gracefully from the couch. “You have a plan?”

“Actually, I wanted permission to set this room up. For us,” he added, blushing hotly. “I mean, not to sound presumptuous, but if we’re mates I assume that we’ll be living together in the future, and I wanted there to be a place where he’s comfortable with it just being to two of us, and to have a place where he can be himself and-”

He broke off when the Queen began to laugh, beginning with a stifled giggle before she was reduced to leaning her hands on her knees, intricately braided hair swinging over her shoulders towards the floor.

Stiles stood awkwardly, using the arm of the couch to steady himself. “Your Majesty?”

“Oh, dear boy, please call me Talia,” she said, rising from her bent position. She wiped at her eyes with the pads of her fingers before sweeping over to him. “You are perfect for my son. You have my blessing to do what you will with this suite, with all charges through the family’s personal funds. You are to be part of this family, so the least we can do is support you in wooing one of our own.”

“That is very kind of you, Your Majesty,” Stiles said, looking up at her.

“Talia,” she corrected.

“Talia,” Stiles replied. “You must call me Stiles, then, as befits soon-to-be-family.”

“Ah, but we are family, now,” Talia said with a sly grin. “Therefore, you must join us for breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love feedback of all kinds! Don't be afraid to talk to me!
> 
> Also come visit me at tomcatgirl.tumblr.com


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